Never Knew I Needed
by justsomebrittanagleek
Summary: You quickly turn your head, hoping your suspicions weren't correct but then you see the smooth, pale skin of someone's back and tousled, blonde hair spread out across the pillow as the girl lays face down on the bed, clearly naked, and crap, you were right. Because the girl lying next to you isn't just anyone. It's Brittany. [Girl Peen entails.]
1. Prologue

.

.

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My accidental happily ever after.  
The way you smile and how you comfort me with your laughter.  
I must admit you were not a part of my book,  
But now if you open it up and take a look,  
You're the beginning and the end of every chapter.

_._

_._

_._

_JUSTSOMEBRITTANAGLEEK_


	2. Chapter 1

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed  
**Characters: **Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce, Quinn Fabray and mentions of others**  
****Rating: **NC-17******  
****Length: **5.3k

**Summary: **You quickly turn your head, hoping your suspicions weren't correct but then you see the smooth, pale skin of someone's back and tousled, blonde hair spread out across the pillow as the girl lays face down on the bed, clearly naked, and fuck, you _were _right. Because the girl lying next to you isn't just anyone. It's___ Brittany._

**Notes: **A random ass idea and the help of a certain TV show lead me to this. I'm not sure how it's going to pan out but I knew I just had to write it because it was scratching at my mind. But I am aware I have another fic going on right now, so if you could give me a little feedback and say which you're preferring, I might be able to sort out the update times. It's only going to be a short fic though, but I've mixed it up a little from my usual G!P fics and also switched the perspective. Hope you enjoy! Title from the song _Never Knew I Needed._

/

Okay, maybe your life didn't go quite how you planned it but it's not like anyone's ever does, right?

You work in a coffee shop in New York, and okay, it's not exactly the most inspiring job of all time but you're also studying and so you guess it's okay for now. You work with your best friends too, Brittany and Quinn, and you honestly don't know why people look down on it so often.

Sure, you serve coffee to people all day, occasionally a Panini or a muffin or whatever, but you get to talk to your friends and spend time with them and your boss isn't _that _much of an asshole so you don't get told off for it. The pay isn't amazing, but once again, you are a student and it pays the bills. You knew thought you were going to get a fancy job whilst you were still at college and so it's cool.

But to emphasize on the main point, you mostly love your job because of Brittany and Quinn. You met them here, in fact you started on the same day and even trained together, and now you've been working together for three years and you three have pretty much become the best of friends. The 'Unholy Trinity', Quinn likes to call you. You also live pretty near to each other, a few streets away, and that comes in pretty handy, too.

Anyway, you've got fifteen minutes until the end of your shift when Brittany comes skipping in through the doors, blonde hair wavy and skirt waving in the breeze that follows her in. You smile and shake your head when you see her wink at a customer, and you know that the tip jar's only full because you, Brittany and Quinn are extremely good looking—even if you say so yourself—but Brittany always goes one step further with her customers. She just has this... _allure _and charm about her and hell, sometimes you have to put supreme effort into not finding your best friend hot and that's freaking difficult, so you don't have a clue how the customers don't just drool over her constantly.

But that's besides the point.

She comes bouncing in with a skip in her step and you smile because you know she's got something on her mind due to the twinkle in her eye, so you just lean against the counter, chin in hand and wait till she approaches you to speak. She had the day off today, and you don't know what she was doing with her free time, but if she was sitting at home wearing _that _then she was totally wasting an outfit. Girl looks fucking _good. _She's definitely got some legs on her.

You cough when you realize you've been staring and straighten up. Your pants feel a little tight and you hate that you have something... _extra _down there because it's really inconvenient when you're perving over your best friend. But it means no harm. You're just checking her out, and you know you've seen her check out your ass when you bend over so whatever. It's just what friends do.

"Hey, San," Brittany says, suddenly in front of you and you blink, confused about how she got from the door to here in like, two seconds. Maybe you were daydreaming.

"Uh, hey, Britt," you reply and smile, picking up a cup and readying yourself with a pen to write her usual order on the side: a vanilla frappe with chocolate sprinkles and cream. "You want your usual?"

She shakes her head and you frown. "Okay..." You draw out. "What _do _you want?"

"I was thinking we could have a girls night out," she suggests and you lift your eyebrows in interest. You, Quinn and Brittany haven't been out together in like, ages.

"Sounds good. You invited Quinn yet?"

"To where?" A voice cuts in and you look over your shoulder to see your other best friend step out from the back room. She's tying her apron around her waist, ready to start the shift you're about to finish. "Hello, by the way."

"We're going out tonight," Brittany says and rocks on to the balls of her feet, her smile bright and white. She's excited. "We haven't been out in ages and Santana's already said yes, so are you in?"

Quinn tilts her head to the side. "I get off work at ten thirty," she sighs and you roll your eyes, twisting slightly and cocking your hip against the counter. "I can't come."

"Stop being such a pussy," you snap and Brittany flicks you in the shoulder, making you recoil in pain. "Ouch! Britt! What was that for!?" You screech, rubbing the sore spot on your arm.

"Now who's being the pussy?" Quinn retorts and you shoot her a glare. The flick probably wouldn't have hurt if the sleeves of your shirt weren't basically non-existent, but it was on bare skin.

"Anyway," Brittany pipes up, disregarding yours and Quinn's little squabble. "Please come, Q," she says and juts out her lower lip in the most irresistible pout. "We haven't all gone out in ages."

See, not only does Brittany have allure from being like, _the _sexiest person in the entire existence of every human in the entire history of the world, but she can also switch to being cuter than a freaking puppy. You're sure it's some type of paradox, but you really don't put much thought into it. Brittany's like a mix of you and Quinn. You have the sex appeal with your (medically enhanced) boobs and all natural curves and ass, and Quinn has the goody two shoes thing going on with the whole innocence and batting of her lashes thing. Brittany's just a mix of both and can switch between _so _easily. It's ridiculous, and you're a little jealous but so what, you're hot so you're just going to rock that instead of being envious.

"God," Quinn finally says, her voice strained. "You and that damn pout, Britt. That's not fair."

Brittany's face splits into a grin and both of you know that's Quinn's way of saying she'll come. "Awesome," she beams and you smile to yourself at how she bounces excitedly. "So how about you meet us at _Bar 23 _at say... eleven o'clock? I know a guy who can put us on the list so we can skip the queue and go straight in."

You nod and look to Quinn who rolls her eyes, but there's a smile on your face and you laugh before realizing it's six now and you're off for the rest of the night.

"I'm off, Fabray," you say and look to Brittany. "Will you wait for me?"

Brittany nods and you throw her a grin before taking off your apron and heading off into the backroom. You pull the tie from your hair and let your hair flow loose, your fingers running through it to rid any tangles before you grab your coat off the back of the door and shrug it over your uniform. It's not that bad, just a black button up shirt with the coffee shop emblem printed on the right breast pocket and a pair of tight pants to match, but you still wouldn't choose to go out in it.

Then you head out and see Brittany sitting on table, her legs swinging back and forth in the air and you make sure to keep your eyes routed to her face because damn, girl has some _legs._

Shit. You need to stop thinking about Brittany like that. You totally need to get laid tonight, too. All this built up testosterone is making you think weirdly.

"You ready to go?" She chimes and you shake yourself out of your thoughts, nodding.

"Yeah, let's go."

Without another word, and a smile to Quinn, you head out with Brittany.

/

Brittany ends up coming back to your apartment after you said you were hungry but didn't want to get some take out and were too tired to cook for yourself. She offered to cook you waffles, and sure, it's not the morning and it could be seen as strange that you're eating breakfast food at night, but Brittany makes the most _amazing _waffles. She can't really cook anything else, apart from one kick ass fajita dish, but that takes preparation and time and a whole lot of shit you don't want to know about. You're just hungry and want some quick food that isn't McDonalds or Chinese take-out.

So waffles are good.

You head into your apartment and throw down your bag on to the sofa, throwing a look over your shoulder at Brittany as she slumps down beside it.

"Get your ass up, Pierce," you say, faking a ghetto accent. "I want me some waffles."

She giggles and throws her head back. "But I _just _sat down," she groans, playfully and you roll your eyes.

"Yeah, how selfish am I. You've been working all day," you drone, sarcastically and she picks up a pillow and throws it at you.

"Shut up," she says and closes her eyes, tilting her head back. "I might have had a busy day," she mumbles.

You're standing idly in the hallway and so you walk back a little, pausing to pick up the pillow thrown at you and perch on the back of the sofa, pillow on lap. "Oh, yeah? Did you have a ten-hour shift?"

Slowly, she peeks open an eye and looks at you. "No," she replies, voice quiet and you giggle before dumping the pillow on her face.

"Exactly. So make me waffles whilst I go shower."

"Okay," she lets out through a long, exaggerated exhale, pushing up from the sofa and twisting around to face you. "But if you don't eat them with a smile you're gonna regret it," she adds and points at you with her pointer finger before poking your nose affectionately.

You grin goofily and watch her saunter into the kitchen before heading off to the bathroom.

/

A little later on, you're dressed, you've got your make-up done and you're leaning into the mirror above the fireplace, applying a coat of lipstick. There's half a bottle of wine in your system, the other half's in Brittany's, and you can feel a tingling in the pit of your stomach telling you you're excited for tonight. You're a little tired admittedly, but that won't stop you because you can just feel that tonight's going to be good and so you're pretty much all fired up and ready to go.

You lean back and smack your lips together, taking in your appearance and smirking at what you see. You know you're hot, although you've got to admit, these damn confinement briefs seem really freaking tight at the moment. You just hope you don't meet a girl and she grinds up on you because getting a hard on in these is really fucking painful, but then again you're kind of hoping a girl does because that means you're already on the highway to Getting Laidsville.

Your phone rings at that moment and you drop your lip gloss to the mantlepiece before turning and picking up your phone. You see Quinn's name flash up on the screen and furrow your brow because she has ten minutes before she's supposed to meet you at the club, and this can only mean one thing.

"You're not coming," you say in lieu of a greeting as you pick up the call.

"_No, I can't," _Quinn sighs down the line, a little aggravated and you can tell she's genuinely pissed off that she can't. _"Fucking Will decided he should go home instead of staying and making the pastries for tomorrow so I'm stuck here."_

You pinch your lips up at the side. "That sucks, Q. Do you want us to come help? I'm sure Britt wouldn't mind if we ditched for the night and went another night."

"_No, it's fine,_" Quinn huffs. _"You guys should go out. Britt was all excited and we'll all be bored if we're here."_

You guess it's true, and honestly you are excited about going out. Standing in the kitchen of the coffee shop you work in and making cheese twists doesn't exactly sound appealing because you want to get your drink on. Your dance on, too. "You sure?"

"_I'm sure. Do you want me to tell Britt? I know she'll be disappointed."_

"That's cool," you say and hear the soft pad of footsteps and turn to find Brittany standing in the doorway to the living room. Holy shit. She looks amazing. "I'll tell her."

Brittany tilts her head to the side at your words, stopping her hands from moving where they were adjusting the short, black dress covering her body and you mouth _Quinn _toward her. She nods but then pouts, clearly knowing what you're about to tell her. Sometimes you really don't know how people can call Brittany dumb. She can be a little ditzy at times, can mistake words for words and has a different logic when it comes to certain things, but she's pretty perceptive.

"_Okay. I'll see you guys tomorrow. Bye."_

You say goodbye and hang up the phone. You set it down on the coffee table before wandering over to Brittany and scrunching up your nose at the sad expression on her face. "Britt—"

"Quinn's not coming," Brittany interjects. "Is she?"

You bite your lip and shake your head. "No. She's stuck at the coffee shop making pastries because Will went home without doing it."

Brittany looks at you. "Will's a butthead," she says and you chuckle, nodding your head in agreement.

"He is. You still wanna go out?"

You let the question linger in the air for a second or two because even though you're really excited to go out, you know that if Brittany said she didn't want to anymore, you'd stay in with her and maybe rent a movie or something. It's not like you couldn't go out on your own because you totally could, but it's just not as fun when you're on your own. Especially when you don't have Brittany with you. Somehow she makes nights like, so much better. Just by being there.

You don't really know why.

"Well," she starts and you look at her with hopeful but understanding eyes. "I mean, I feel bad for Quinn, but we're already dressed up."

She gestures down her body and you let your eyes follow her hands, but then you get and up close look of her dress, how it clings to her curve and how it's thin enough fabric that you can see her smooth, pale skin underneath and the way the material hugs her ass and abs. The dress barely reaches mid-thigh and you can see _so _much leg. You just know that she's going to hook up with someone tonight because the guys and girls will be throwing themselves at her. She's looking _so_ fucking _fine _tonight you think that if you two weren't best friends, you'd totally throw yourself at her, too.

Shit. No. You need to stop that. What is with you today? You keep checking out Brittany and okay, you check her out quite a lot but today it's been on full power. You can't seem to stop gazing at her.

But it's just the lack of sex. That's all. You need to get laid and then you'll stop drooling over how extremely hot your best friend is.

"We are already dressed up," you echo, trying to sway your mind from going into the gutter. "And we always have a good time together."

She nods, a grin spreading across her face. "We do," she agrees. "Plus it'll be easier to get you laid if there's just two of us 'cause then I can be your wing man," she says with a grin but quickly creases her brow, stopping. "No, wait, wing... _woman?_"

You giggle and nod, stroking your hand up her arm. It's not a strange thing to do because you two have always been touchy-feely. "Yeah, Britt, it would be wing woman, but I don't know what you're talking about. I can get laid on my own."

Her eyebrow lifts and she shoots you a skeptical look. "So it's been out of choice that you haven't got laid in six months and that your left hand is your best friend?" She quirks and your jaw drops open but you say nothing. She chuckles, winks and then walks over to the mirror you were previously occupying, picking up the lip gloss and using it. "You've probably got blue balls," she adds and if possibly, your jaw drops open even further.

But that's one of the reasons why she's your best friend. She wasn't disgusted or grossed out when she found out about your... extra appendage; she was totally fine with it. In fact, she actually said it was hot because it was like getting the best of both worlds, and even though you're gay and don't really know first hand what she's talking about, you suppose you have boobs and a dick so yeah, to Brittany it would totally be the best of both worlds.

It's great, especially because when you told Quinn about it, she was totally fine with it too and just shrugged and said that it was okay as long as you didn't knock someone up without careful planning. It's something that Quinn has personal experience in, as she had a girl of her own at fifteen, and so you had promised you'd use protection every time you had sex. Brittany had just chimed in and said that of course you wouldn't be silly and you'd wrap your willy, and you and Quinn had just laughed because Brittany always comes out with the strangest but funniest things. Like how dolphins are just gay sharks. There's definitely some logic there.

Anyway, you just chuckle and shake your head, thinking that _yeah, _you probably do have blue balls by now; you've been lacking some serious sexy feel recently and so you haven't even had some special alone time with Santana Junior.

So you smack Brittany on the ass playfully before telling you're just going to pee but then you'll be ready to leave. She just smiles softly in response.

/

You hit up the club and the bouncer eyes you lecherously as you walk in, arm in arm with Brittany.

You two look hot and you can feel the moment you walk in that at least a dozen pair of eyes snap to you, but you pay them no attention and instead squeeze Brittany's arm as you two head over to the bar. When you get there, you tell the bartender that you want two vodka and cranberry's and he nods, stares at your tits for a good three seconds before whisking away to make your drinks. Brittany slides down on to the free stool after you gesture for her to do so, and she tucks her hair behind her ear, smiling bashfully at you because you've got killer heels on and she's wearing flats and yet you still offered her the stool.

It's just the polite thing to do, and you lift your shoulder in a, 'that's okay' motion when she mutters a small, "thank you" beneath her breath before you lean one forearm on the bar and wrap the other around her waist, making sure you don't get lost in the crowd.

You get your drinks and you stay at the bar, having a few more before the alcohol flows and you start hearing that low buzz in your ears. Then a song comes on and Brittany looks to you with wide eyes and an excited smile, and you don't even need to let her ask you if you want to dance before you're downing the rest of your drink and grabbing her hand, leading her toward the dance floor and stopping in the middle.

Her arms go around your neck and yours go around her waist, and you smirk as begin rolling your bodies to the rhythm. After all, this is one of the ways you and Brittany work to get yourself someone to take home at the end of the night. You dance together, eye up the competition on the floor and then scan to find whoever is glancing at you. When you spot your target, you give each other a look and then wink before slinking off toward your target and begin flirting.

It's the way it always works, but tonight you feel something different as her arms tighten around your neck, her eyes gazing into yours, but you just squeeze her hips and smile.

/

At some point in the night, you get talking to a girl up at the bar and Brittany conveniently gets talking to the girls friend. Turns out they're here with a few of their friends and they're over in a booth, and they invite you and Brittany over for some drinks. You look to your best friend and she nods, and you waggle your eyebrows back when the girl and the guy walk away because you're totally both getting lucky tonight.

You follow the girl and the guy into a booth and you're introduced to all their friends. You're pressed up against Brittany's side and you feel her hand creep over and her pinky stretch over to loop through yours when the group announces it's time for shots. You and Brittany are always up for shots so you agree and soon enough, one of the girls is hiking up her top, tucking it beneath her bra and stretching out across the length of the table.

One of the friends pours some salt on the girls abs whilst the girl takes a lime between her teeth and hell, she's attractive so you're more than willing to do this. But a guy goes first and takes the shot off the girl, sucking the lime from between her teeth and kissing her afterward and you giggle, nudging your elbow into Brittany's shoulder and nod toward the table. She looks to you, her eyes narrowing in the sexiest of ways and you gulp as you see the intent in her eye.

Though both of you look down at the same time and realize that Brittany's wearing a dress so you can't take a shot off her, but then the girl who was originally lying on the table pops up and hooks an arm around both your necks.

"IT'S YOUR TURN," she yells into your ear and you wince away from the volume of it.

"We can't," Brittany says and gestures to her body. "We're wearing dresses."

"Then do a shot of another part of your body!" The girl suggests and well, she has a point.

So you just watch as the girl grabs the salt shaker (where she got that from, you don't know) and tells Brittany to wet her hand and wipe her neck. Brittany does so, her hesitant and slightly drunk eyes flicking to you and you smile back in encouragement, but your stomach flutters a little. You frown, unsure of what the hell is going on but then you register that everyone around you is paying absolutely zero attention to what's going on here and so you don't know why you're nervous. Plus it's only a damn shot off your best friend. It's not exactly a big deal.

You're broken out your though when someone tugs hard on your wrist and you jerk off the booth seat and stumble, but then warm arms wrap around you and you look up to find Brittany smiling down at you, the girl from before urging you on to do the shot impatiently. Brittany's not lying on the table, but she's perched on the side with her legs dangling off the edge and you grin drunkenly at her as you step between her thighs, your eyes zoning into the spot on her neck where the salt lies. A shot glass is shoved into your hand and you take it without saying thank you to whoever gave it to you as you keep your eye on Brittany, your heart beating in rhythm to the heavy, swift beat of the dance song the DJ's playing.

You lick your lips and hear the girl chant behind you, and then hear a few guys join in and your eyes meet Brittany's as you lean it. It goes so slowly and you tilt your head, getting closer and closer until you poke your tongue out and flick it experimentally against your best friends skin. She gasps and your hands go to her thighs as you shift forward even further, pressing yourself against the edge of the table and feeling a jolt come of pleasure course through you.

But you don't stop. You suck your tongue back into your mouth, tasting Brittany and groan before leaning back in and running your tongue up the protruding muscle in her neck, the salt granules rough against your tongue. You quickly come to the end of the trail and you realize now you need to move back, take the shot and grab the lime, wherever it is, but you can't resist from pressing your lips down against her skin, kissing her gently.

It all happens too fast from there and a tug on your arm pulls you back, and you quickly shift your mind into directing the shot glass in hand to your mouth without looking back to your best friend. You tip your head back, the liquid burning as it slides down your throat and settles in your stomach and you whip your head around, needing the lime to finish but the girl standing next to you comes up empty.

"Brittany!" The girl says with a smirk and your eyes flicker back to your best friend to find wide, blue eyes staring at you, Brittany's hands clenched around the egde of the table as she sways a little and you giggle. She's drunk.

But the blonde quickly kicks herself back into action and you watch as a lime wedge appears through her mouth, her teeth biting down on it until half of it's sticking out. And because you're drunk you just laugh to yourself, and Brittany grins back because she's challenging you; but you're more than willing, you're drunk and happy and having a good night, so you lean in, getting closer and closer to her face, your breath getting harder the closer you get.

The alcohol must be really screwing with you because you're suddenly finding yourself wishing that piece of lime wasn't there and that you were about to press your lips to Brittany's. Dammit. What the hell is going on with you?

The thoughts freak you out so much you quickly lean in, making sure to pull your lips back and bare your teeth so you don't accidentally kiss your best friend, and take the lime, but she's resistant to it and you frown, so close to her face now that you can see every detail like it's magnified. You gasp, and you find yourself utterly entranced by how god damn beautiful this girl is, but it seems something must go through Brittany's mind because she jerks back, releasing the lime and you're frowning at her, not sure why she did that.

Still, you suck the lime into your mouth and scrunch your face up at the acidic fluid that flows through your mouth before throwing the peel into the bucket on the table beside Brittany, meeting her eye afterward. But then someone shoves another shot into your hand, Brittany hops off the table and slides to your side and she shoots you a grin that you're instantly suspicious about because a second ago she was looking at you with the strangest of expressions.

You make a point to push it to the back of your mind though because you're having a good night with your best friend and apparently, a bunch of random strangers and you all form a circle as you count down to take the shot. But the second you bring the edge of the shot glass to your lips, you think about how you just took a shot off your best friend and how damn good she tasted and your eyes shift to the side, finding blue ones staring straight back.

So holding Brittany's eye, you smirk because you know she's thinking about exactly the same thing and you both tip your shot back without breaking eye contact.

And that's the last thing you remember.

/

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

You wince at the shrill sound of your alarm. It's too fucking early to be going off now, and you're way too fucking hungover to be dealing with anything that isn't a whisper because it feels like a really fat guy has chopped off the top of your head and is jumping up and down on your brain. Sharp pain shoots through the ventricles in your mind, and you groan as you reluctantly pick up your head, not even bothering to open your eyes because apparently someone cut your blinds down and you can already see the brightness of the sun through your eyelids.

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

You groan even louder, ignoring the way your mouth feels dry like you ate cotton for breakfast, lunch and dinner and drag your arm from beneath your pillow letting it flail out beside you until your knuckles bump against the corner of your bedside table. It hurts, but no way near as much as your head does right now and you let your hand slap about the top until you feel the edges of your alarm clock and you turn it off before pushing it off the edge.

Everything hurts now, and you fight the shiver that threatens to run down your spine as you pull your arm back and dive beneath the covers once more, realizing that you're so cold because you didn't put on any pajamas on last night and apparently took off all your clothes.

But then your entire body tenses, breath hitching as you feel the bed shift beside you and you realize you're not alone. Shit. You must have brought someone back last night and you can't for the fucking life of you remember anything after those shots with that random group of people you met. It might have been that girl you were talking to up by the bar, or maybe it was the one that kept giving you shots all night, but you can't freaking remember and you lie there, telling yourself to keep calm as you brace yourself to turn to find whoever is next to you.

Though as you open your eyes, you find yourself in a completely different place than you thought you were. You're not a home, which means you're at someone else's house; but as you blink away the blurriness, suddenly wishing you had your glasses, you realize that you recognize this room and something cold drops in your stomach because that means if you're here, at someone else's house, butt naked in their bed then you...

Oh, shit.

You quickly turn your head, hoping your suspicions weren't correct but then you see the smooth, pale skin of someone's back, and tousled, blonde hair spread out across the pillow as the girl lays face down on the bed, clearly naked, and fuck, you _were _right.

Because the girl in the bed next to you isn't just _anyone_.

It's Brittany.

And as you look over her, your eyes taking in the sight of your naked best friend in bed, the entire night comes rushing back to you like an unstoppable flood.

/

**Leave a comment to say what you think, please!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Two]  
**Rating:** NC-17**  
****Length: **10.7k

**Notes: **Wowza. So I'm going to take from the feedback that you guys are enjoying this? YAY! Also, I'm going alone on this one with no beta so apologies for any mistakes.

/

_You were dragged out on to the dance floor by someone. You didn't see who it was but you remember realizing Brittany wasn't by your side._

_But just as that thought had crossed your mind, you felt long arms wrap around you waist and a hand sweep away the hair on your neck. You knew from the single touch who it was and because you were a little drunk, you leaned back into the touch and moved to the beat of the music. Brittany giggled lowly in your ear and you felt her hips press into you from behind, so you pushed back and she mewled quietly into your ear._

_You don't know what made you do it, it could've been the seven tequila shots that you took or maybe it was the three beer chasers, but you decided to turn around and face your best friend. She was smirking down at you drunkenly and you felt something warm spread in your stomach as your palms glided down her arms and then settled on her hips, pulling them tight against yours. Her thigh slipped between yours, her breath warm against your face and you felt the need to tuck back a piece of her hair as it fell down; so you did it._

_She bit her lip at the gesture, and you found yourself smiling. You could feel the music pumping and how it was matching your pulse. You could feel her breath warm against your face, her forearms searing against your skin where they were draped over your shoulders and wound around your neck and how her hips were pushing into yours like she needed more._

_ And in that moment, you wanted more, too. _

_You wanted to give into the temptation thrumming through your body and close that miniscule gap between your lips and just kiss her because you felt the need hit you hard in the stomach. You felt it creeping across your skin, sizzling beneath it and you dragged your fingertips over her cheek, down her jaw and let your fingers settle beneath her chin, your thumb brushing over her bottom lip as your eyes drifted down and locked on to it._

_And then you heard it... her breath hitching. You heard it despite your heavy breathing, despite the sound of the music pounding above and despite your pulsing roaring in your ears. You heard it and you felt your own breath hitch in your throat as you looked back into her eyes because you knew at that moment, she wanted it as much as you did._

_So you gave in. _

_You spared one last glance into her eyes at the same time you wet your lips and then just went for it. You let the hand on her hip drift around, urging her body forward and used the hand on her face to tip her chin a little, just enough so you could press your lips against hers, to fit your top lip between her own._

_But you didn't get that far._

_A second before you were to feel her soft, warm lips against your own, the music cut and the strobe lights flicked off. You jerked your head back, your neck snapping to the side to see what the hell was going on but all you found were confused faces doing the same as you were, and all you heard was the simultaneous groan of many put out party people who just wanted to drink and dance the night away. _

_Just like yourself._

_ There must have been a back up generator or something because lights suddenly came on, illuminating the whole place and your eyebrows knitted together, hand dropped away from Brittany's chin on instinct to cover your eyes as they adjusted to the change in brightness._

"_What the..." you started but the sound of someone speaking overhead stopped you._

"WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT THE MAIN GENERATOR HAS BROKEN SO IF YOU WOULD, COULD YOU PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE NEAREST EXIT. WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE. THANK YOU."

_You furrowed your brow because shit, you were totally just getting into the groove; but still, you knew you could't do anything and looked back to Brittany to find her pouting. Apparently you weren't the only one that wanted to continue drinking and dancing. God dammit._

"_Guess we better go," you said and Brittany smiled at you and shrugged._

"_Okay," she replied and neither of you bothered trying to find the group of people you were with and instead headed out to the cloakroom, handing over the weird ticket thing you kept in your tits to get your coats back._

_When the pizza faced boy gave them back, you snarled at him for basically drooling over Brittany and headed outside, Brittany grinning at the bouncer who let them in earlier. Brittany linked her arm through yours and you walked a little down the street, shivering at the light breeze that swept beneath your coats as you looked down the street for a cab. When one came, you hailed it and luckily it pulled straight up, so you climbed stepped aside and let Brittany slide in before you followed, taking the seat next to her._

_The journey was silent and short and the cab was stopping outside Brittany's apartment building before you knew it. You felt something drop inside of you and sighed, but then you thought of how strange that reaction was and just decided to blame it on the alcohol. Alcohol had always done really strange things to you so whatever._

_As the cab pulled up on your side of the road, you climbed out, not wanting Brittany to get hit by some jackass who didn't see her opening the door to the road and helped her out. She smiled at you and leaned in through the passenger side window to hand the driver some money. Apparently it was enough for the journey because the second Brittany stood back up, the taxi drove away, the back door shutting with the speed he shot off at. _

_Maybe it was the end of his shift. Although you weren't entirely sure cab drivers had shifts. You thought they just stopped and started when they wanted. Or like, worked all the time. Though you thought that was unlikely._

"_Well he was in a hurry," you commented as you watched the taxi drive down the street._

_Brittany laughed and grabbed the sleeve of your jacket, pulling you with her. "Come on," she said but you dug your heels into the sidewalk and stopped her._

"_Where are we going?"_

_She turned and gave you a 'duh' expression. "Upstairs," she replied like it was obvious. "You're not walking home alone at two in the morning in New York City."_

_You raised an eyebrow and felt yourself grinning. "Why?"_

"_Do you not read the news?" She asked and you continued staring. "Well you should because weird stuff happens in this city. Now come on, you can sleep at mine."_

_You pondered on the offer for a few seconds but you weren't sobering up as fast as you hoped and okay, you knew New York City had a high crime rate so you thought maybe staying at Brittany's would be a good idea. She only had one bedroom but she had a sofa and you were tired and drunk and so fuck it, you'd sleep in the bathtub if you had to. After she suggested it you found yourself not wanting to go home so you shrugged and let Brittany lead you upstairs._

_The apartment was warm when you entered and you shuddered at the temperature change as Brittany walked through her living room, stripping her coat and throwing it over the back of the sofa. You followed, taking off your own coat and chucking it over Brittany's and made yourself comfortable. You were best friends so it was acceptable to treat her apartment like your own. You, Quinn and Brittany all did it with each others apartments; just chilled and acted like it were your own._

_Brittany came walking back in and had a bottle of wine in one hand, and two wine glasses pinched between her fingers in the other. You immediately sat up, lifting an eyebrow because you were thinking maybe you were going to watch a little television and then go to bed. You didn't realize you were going to continue the party up here but whatever, you were cool with it. The night ended too abruptly anyway._

_As she poured two wine glasses, you pulled off your heels and groaned as you flexed your toes. Your feet were aching like a bitch and you began rubbing at them, one by one until you saw a wine glass being pushed your way._

"_Feet hurt?" Brittany asked and you nodded, taking the glass from her._

"_Like a mother," you replied and watched her sit down, tucking her legs beneath her body and leaning her elbow on the back of the sofa, other hand grasping the wine glass._

"_It was a good night though," she added and you nodded in agreement. "But there wasn't enough play," she scrunched her nose up in disappointment._

_You let your head fall back against the sofa. "God, I know, don't tell me," you groaned and she giggled. "I _really _needed to get laid tonight."_

_Brittany sipped on her wine before replying, "You could've done if we'd found that group again. But you could've done way better anyway."_

_You laughed because you knew it was true. The group of people you were hanging were nice, but the girls just looked like they were begging for it. That just wasn't attractive._

"_I know," you whined through your chuckle. "But I just wanted to have sex."_

_Brittany shrugged. "I did, too," she said. "But crap happens and I guess we just weren't meant to have sex tonight which is why we're here."_

_You nodded in agreement and kept staring at Brittany's apartment as silence set in, but then you really started thinking about her words and it was like you both of you were on the same brain wave because your head rolled to the side at the same time she stopped drinking her wine and then you were looking at each other. And it could've been the amount of alcohol you'd drunk, or that Brittany looked really fucking good, but suddenly you were gulping because you were staring at her and you felt that shift in the air._

_The one that lead you to sleep with your best friend._

/

You sit up, careful not to wake Brittany as your mind races with thoughts of last night and your body climbs out of bed, bending down to pick up the items of your clothing that are left in a messy trail from the bedroom doorway to the bed.

And you're suddenly grateful your body's moving like it has a mind of its own because you're in so much shock you haven't actually told yourself to do any of this. But still, you do and you pause in the doorway when you have your clothes bundled in a large pile in your arms, taking one last look over your shoulder to look at your best friend in bed, completely naked. Your heart thumps loudly against your chest, your throat thickening.

Because holy crap, you can't believe it actually happened. You slept with Brittany. Your _best friend. _Oh God. Of all the stupidest things you've ever done—which is _a lot_—that has got to be in the top fucking three.

You slip out the door on that thought, pulling it closed gently until you hear it click into place and stop briefly in the living room, looking at the sofa and ignoring the way it brings back so many memories that shamefully arouse you whilst you slip into your dress from last night. You can smell her on the fabric and groan because now you know how it feels to have that smell all around you, filling your head and you don't think you're ever going to be able to get it _out _your head.

Shaking the thoughts off, you grab your purse and coat and slip out the front door as quietly as possible. It's raining when you get outside, a little dark too, and you take out your phone to find that it's not even six in the morning yet. That could explain why you're so tired but right now you're not exactly focused on the lack of sleep thing because you still can't really believe it. Last night, you slept with your best friend.

Shit.

Your coat flaps open in the wind as you make your way home, not bothering to call a cab because you need some air right now. The rain soaks your hair and your coat, and even the front of your blouse because you can't be bothered to close it, or rather you're way too preoccupied with the thoughts running through your head to even _begin _thinking about something else.

You just can't believe it. You're honestly in complete shock, and the worst thing is you know you've just walked out on her without even talking about it. But how could you? What would you have said? That you were sorry? Would she have even been sorry? Who would've jumped in first and said it was a mistake? You don't even fucking know.

All you know is that you slept with her.

Fuck.

/

_You don't know how it happened, or who initiated it, but the next thing you became aware of was that you were on top of Brittany, your hips snug between her thighs and your tongue was stroking against hers. You were rocking and her hands were running over your back, one moving to your hair and tangling and the other urging your rocking movements on by pressing against the small of your back._

_You were kissing, hot and opened mouth and your skin was burning beneath her touch but it felt so good. You broke the kiss for air, but kept close and panted against her mouth, your lips still touching but not kissing and you, for some reason, decided to open your eyes. She was staring back at you and you felt something lodge in your throat because you were sure this was going to be the moment where she pushed you away._

_But she didn't and you couldn't explain how unbelievable that felt. She just gave you a reassuring smile, her hand drifting down from your neck to join the other one and before you knew it, long fingers were curling around the hem of your dress, stroking over the skin of your thighs and tugging up. It made you realize how real this was, how you both knew where this was leading but you were too drunk from the alcohol and the adrenaline of kissing Brittany and so you disregarded any warnings that should've flashed before your eyes and stood._

_She narrowed her eyes, clearly confused but you just smiled down at her and wordlessly held out your hand. Her eyes flicked down to it and she passed a glance into your eyes before taking it and you helped her off the sofa and twisted to walk backwards, reaching to grab her other hand as you walked down her hallway toward her bedroom. She was staring at you with these dark blue eyes, and you gulped because you'd never seen her look at you like that, look at you so... _hungrily, _and it made your insides flip with anticipation of what was to come._

/

You suck your lips into your mouth as you enter your apartment, but regret it instantly.

It just brings back everything you can remember about last night; how it felt to kiss her, how she tasted and how your skin flared when she touched you. You can remember everything so clear and you shut your eyes, wishing the thoughts away because it may have been good, but the repercussions are going to be bad.

You make your way to your bathroom and instantly strip from your clothes, looking at them and thinking about how she looked at you when you took them off. It makes something stir deep within you and you're not sure if it's bad or good, but you don't think you want to know. You don't know how Brittany feels about this and you just want a shower now. Not because you feel dirty, because you don't, but because you can feel where she kissed you on your body and you're not sure how to feel about that.

So you step into the shower, switch it on and don't even flinch at the cold spray that comes down against you.

You just lean forward, propping one arm up on the shower wall and press your forehead against your forearm, unable to stop the memories of last night from flooding your brain.

_/_

_Both of you reached Brittany's bedroom and Brittany took the lead because you froze at the doorway, and she brushed past you, still holding both your hands and pulled you backward toward the bed. At the last-minute, when you thought she was going to climb on to it, she dropped your hands and then you were both standing there, breathing heavily and gazing at each other. You didn't know why she'd dropped your hands and you were a little worried for a second, but then she smirked at you in a way you weren't privy to and reached down to the hem of her own dress, grabbing it and whipping it off her body and over her head in one swift moment._

_Then she was standing before you, dressed in only a barely there thong and you knew you were staring but fuck, you would've had to have been blind not to stare. She was beautiful. You'd seen her topless before, but never this bare and you let your eyes trail over her body in an appreciative manner. You didn't want to look at her like a piece of meat and your lips curved up at the side as she stepped forward, grabbed your hands and twisted you around, swiftly pushing you on to the bed because you were too dazed with the image of naked Brittany before you to do it yourself._

_She straddled you, fitting her hips over yours as her legs went beside yours and you gasped because she was _so _close. You could see every freckle on her body. You could see the dip in her abs and you couldn't help yourself when you reached out to touch her. The tips of your fingers stroked over her, mapping her skin and you gasped when she grabbed your hand and pushed your palm firmly against her skin, but it was only against her ribs and you snapped your head up, knowing she was actually scared to put your hand where she really wanted it._

_You met her eye, and saw the way she was biting her bottom lip between her teeth and you'd swear you nearly died when you got a sudden splurge of confidence and let your palm graze up to cup the curve of her breast. She felt soft, like how you'd imagine a cloud to feel, and you heard her gasp, felt her hips press down and back arch when you applied the smallest of pressures. You knew she was enjoying it and you were breathing hard, your stomach fluttering with nerves but you couldn't figure out why. You'd done this a hundred times at least, admittedly not with your best friend, but you knew how to make a girl feel good and what to do, and usually you'd do it with such confidence but that time you were nervous as hell._

_But you knew you had to show the confidence. Both of you were in the same boat and so you let yourself go and let the confidence flow. Your thumb moved up, brushed over Brittany's nipple and you eyed the neglected nipple and thought fuck it, and leaned forward to kiss the flesh around it. Her hand shot to the back of your head, and your right hand toyed with her nipple, pinching gently as you let your tongue flick out against her other nipple, before you sucked it into your mouth. She gasped, arched further into you and pressed your head harder into her chest and you smirked against her breast, unable to stop yourself from bucking your hips because you could feel the ache at your crotch, making you press against the tight confinement briefs._

_And you knew it was getting too much and released her nipple with a pop, taking a second to marvel over the perfection before you, before you glanced up to find Brittany staring down at you, panting hard with dark eyes and parted lips. And you couldn't resist, because then her mouth was on yours and she was kissing you again, whining into your mouth as your hands slid up her thighs, urging her down by her them as you pushed up with your hips, and you could feel your skin flare at the sound, at the feel, at the situation._

_You wanted more though, and the way Brittany flicked her tongue against yours and deepened the kiss made you think she did too, so you took a firm but gentle hold of her thighs and stood, turning around and pressing one knee into the mattress as you threw Brittany further back up on the bed. You didn't follow just yet; but you stood at the foot of the bed, holding Brittany's eyes as she propped herself up on her elbows, watching you run your hands down your body and fingers latch on to the hem of your dress, pulling it up and over your head just like she did previously._

_Her eyes widened and you felt smug at the way her jaw dropped and eyebrows lifted as she raked her vision over your body. Her eyes lingered on the swell of your breasts, where your boobs were spilling from your bra and you bit your lip, grinning to yourself when her eyes drifted down to the tight confinement briefs. You were sporting a bulge, but it was heavily packed away and you were just twitching with the need to take it off because you were so hot and so ready for what was to come._

_It felt like you were about to explode._

_You had never felt like that before._

/

You climb out the shower after twenty minutes and wrap your body up in a towel.

You look at yourself in the mirror and take a deep breath because you don't look the same as when you looked at yourself last time; but it's not a bad different, in fact, it's a good different. Your eyes are shining, your skin glowing and now you're really unsure of how you feel.

So you drop your gaze and walk out into your bedroom, picking some boxers, sweatpants, a baggy shirt and a bra from your drawers before changing into them. Then you head into the living room and grab your phone from your purse, slumping down on to the sofa and setting your phone on the coffee table before you switch on the television.

You don't even bother changing the channel and instead let the reality show play in the background as your thoughts come back to you.

/

_She looked at you hungrily from the bed, her eyes wide and dark with arousal and you gulped, frozen from your position. You'd never had her look at you like that, you'd had others but there was a deeper lust behind her eyes and you realized that you never wanted anyone else to mirror that image. You didn't want anyone wanting you the way she did, because you could see in her eyes that she'd been yearning for this. The idea had been in her mind and you were shocked because you'd never thought about it. How stupid were you._

_You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn't realize Brittany was crawling to her knees and coming toward you until her fingers were hooking into the waistband of your confinement briefs and tugging you forward, your knees bumping against the foot board. You looked her in the eye, your skin sizzling and heart thumping and you swallowed audibly, reaching up and brushing back a piece of her hair as she let the rest of her fingers join the ones touching you and curled them around the fabric, looking into your eye to make sure that was what you wanted._

_And you'd never wanted anything more. _

_So you nodded and her lips twitched into a small smile as she urged your confinement briefs down your legs, your member springing free from the tightness. The feel of the cool air piercing against your skin made you buck a little, but you just stepped out of the briefs and grinned when strong hands held your hips, blue eyes locking on to your erection. You knew you weren't small, and you weren't like, freakishly big, but you were proud of what you had. Even more so when Brittany stared at it like it was the best thing in the world._

_You couldn't wait for her to touch you._

_She licked her lips and you were momentarily mesmerized by her tongue, so you bent down, stroking your finger beneath her chin to urge her face up and then kissed her. You pressed your lips against hers, yours eyes fluttering shut at her warm, soft lips. She tasted so sweet, so addictive, and you didn't want to kiss anyone else. Every time you kissed Brittany, you just felt like you were on fire. You saw fireworks and you smiled against her mouth, pulling back but giving in to one last soft kiss._

_But she just smiled softly at you, something that was way too calming for the way you felt, but your thoughts were quickly erased when Brittany began playing open-mouthed kissed down your jaw, your neck, pausing to suck on your pulse before she moved along your collar-bone, teeth grazing your skin. Your fists clenched beside you with the need to touch her, but you realized there was no reason why you couldn't touch her now. She was your best friend, but you had crossed a line already so what was the harm?_

_Before you could make a decision to touch her, though, you felt nimble fingers snapping open your bra and smooth hands tugging it down your arms. Then you were completely bare, and you were so punch drunk on everything that was happening that you didn't find yourself being conscious. In fairness, she didn't give you enough time before hot breath was on your breast and a tongue was flicking against your nipple, lips enclosing around it after. It send jolts of pleasure sparking through your body, and your hands snapped to the back of her hand to press her harder into her chest; but you were so preoccupied by the way her tongue was rolling over the flesh that when her other hand wrapped around your shaft, your eyes burst open and hips jerked forward._

_Brittany just smirked against your breast, her hand stroking up and down your length and you could feel the tingle build in the base of your spine. You groaned into the air, biting on your lip to stop yourself from cursing and just let yourself feel how Brittany was handling you. It was incredible. She made you feel things you'd never felt, and you tilted your head down to watch her work your cock and your breast in time and that's when it hit you._

_You were about to have sex with your best friend._

_It wasn't like it was new information, but it was like it'd suddenly struck you and you gasped; but Brittany didn't stop her ministrations. Instead she continued, and after flicking her tongue against your hardened nub two more times, she released it with a pop and glanced up at you. And you caught your breath. Big, dark, blue eyes were staring right at you whilst a soft, pale hand continued to glide up and down your shaft and the eye contact intensified everything by a million times. A flush scorched across your skin and you couldn't contain how hard you were breathing because she was gazing right at you with trust, affection, lust, arousal. It was such a plethora of emotions, and you were sure it was some type of paradox but you couldn't find it in you to care._

_So you just smiled back, brushing the back of your hand over her cheek and she bit her lip before pressing forward, her lips starting at your breastbone and dragging down. Her tongue flicked out and your abdomen quivered beneath her touch, your back arching to get closer and she kissed your skin harder. You were so entranced by the tingle that her lips left every time they pressed against you that you didn't realize she'd reached her intended destination before her lips were wrapping around the tip of your cock, taking you in slowly._

_It pulled a deep groan from within you and you felt the pressure within you tighten and tighten, like a coil, and your eyes clenched shut as you thought of the release. Heat spread over your entire body and you moaned loudly into the air, not caring for the volume as Brittany slid her tongue up the underside of your shaft, flicking at the head. Your hips rolled, you needed so much more than her mouth but it just felt too damn good and your fingers tangled through her hair; but you didn't push. You went with the rhythm, her free hand coming up and wrapping around the shaft, stroking as her mouth worked you._

_Brittany picked up the pace and you could feel a light layer of sweat coating your body, the pressure building so high in the base of you spine that you knew it wouldn't be long before you came. But you didn't want it to end. You couldn't let it end because you wanted to give back to her in more ways than one, so reluctantly, you urged her mouth away from you, your cock releasing from her mouth with an obscene smacking sound and you groaned, the cold air piercing your skin._

_She was just too good._

_Her eyes met yours and you smiled down at her, telling her with a look that she hadn't done anything wrong and that you were just too hot and too close to coming and she smirked back. Her hand released from your cock and you groaned again, but she just bit her lip as her other hand came up, thumb swiping along her bottom lip to remove the excess moisture. The mere sight made your stomach tighten and you pressed your hands to her shoulder, pushing her gently back to the bed until she laid down, legs parting without conscious thought._

_You just looked at the spot between her thighs, where her dampened panties stuck to her and something lodged in your throat. She was so fucking hot and so ready for you and damn, she was your best friend but you couldn't resist. That was the only way you could describe her... She was irresistible._

_So you crawled on to the bed, one of your hands reaching down to cup yourself, stroking and squeezing at the base because you had stamina, but this was already testing it and you had no idea what the next action would bring for you. She smirked, her eyes knowing and you paused between her legs, kneeling, and you stopped touching yourself in favor of reaching for her underwear, your fingers hooking over the waistband as your eyes trailed up her abs, over her breasts and to her face. You were mesmerized by her. She was so hot._

_And you gasped when you slowly peeled her underwear down, her hips rising from the bed to aid your action until she was completely bare before you, because no, she wasn't just hot._

_She was beautiful._

/

You must have fallen asleep at some point because you're startled and woken by the sound of your cell phone. You jolt forward, grabbing it and pull it to you ear, picking it up; though as it presses against the shell of your ear, you realize you didn't check the caller ID and shit, it could be Brittany and you don't know what to say.

But when you hear the voice down the line, you breathe out a sigh of relief because it's just Quinn.

"_Whoa, what's wrong with you?"_

You pause for a moment, your lips parted. Why did Quinn ask what's wrong with you? Why would there be something wrong with you? Should there be?

Shit. Your entire body tenses as your thoughts process. Brittany's told Quinn about what happened last night and now Quinn's ringing you to talk about it.

FUCK.

"Hangover," you grunt, not trusting yourself to say anything else. You don't know how Quinn's going to approach the subject.

"_Oh, yeah!_" Quinn almost yells, her voice pitching. _"You and Britt went out last night. How'd it go?"_

You're instantly confused, eyes blinking away because okay, maybe Brittany didn't tell Quinn. "That's not why you're ringing?" You say. You thought Quinn would know by now.

"_No..._" Quinn drags out the word. _"I was ringing to ask you if you could look after Beth for a few hours. I've picked up the early bird shift at the coffee shop and need the money._"

Beth is Quinn's daughter. She had her when she was sixteen and somehow manages to raise her kid, study at college and work. You're proud of her, and so you don't mind helping her out when she needs it. Beth's father, Puck, takes the little girl every other week, but it seems this is Quinn's week and so you understand that she needs the money.

Still, you realize that she wasn't calling to ask you what the hell happened between you and Brittany last night and you begin to panic. She doesn't know anything; she would've said it by now, and now you just know she's going to question you.

"Oh, right," you breath out, suddenly clenching your eyes together and hoping Quinn doesn't get suspicious about how you're acting. "Well that's cool. I've got a shift at twelve, though."

"_That's fine."_

Your eyes dart around your apartment as it goes silent and you're just waiting for it. Those little words and that angry, questioning tone.

But it never comes.

"_So, I'll drop her by in an hour. That okay?"_

You nod, completely unsure what's going on. "Yeah, that's cool. See you then."

"_Thanks, S! You're great. Bye."_

You say goodbye and hang up, staring at the screen for a long moment. She didn't even say anything about last night to you. Hasn't Brittany told her? You mean, you know that you haven't told her but that's because you're feeling all kinds of weird about it. Not bad weird, but not good weird. You just don't really know how you feel about last night and so to you that's weird.

Pinching your brow together, you try to shake it off and head into the bathroom to pee, but you stop when you pass the mirror, catching a glimpse of something you hadn't seen before. You completely disregard the way you look because even though you're dressed like a tramp, there's a brightness in your eyes and your skin that wasn't there before and you really don't want to know why it wasn't there before last night and now is. You just don't want to think about it too much and so you instead focus on this spot, sweeping your still-damp hair to the side with one hand whilst your other goes up to your neck, fingertips pressing against a dark red spot on the skin.

Brittany gave you a hickey. She marked you. And you hate the way your entire body tingles at the thought of it.

Because last night definitely happened. This is proof of it.

You wonder if you gave her any hickeys.

/

_Your hands stroked up her thighs, twisting inward and up the inside of them and you could feel her shudder with anticipation beneath your touch. You took your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes moving from her face, down her body and to the most intimate part of her, and the breath caught in your throat. The moonlight shining through her window allowed you to see just how ready she was for you._

_You couldn't believe it._

_You smirked down at her as you ducked your head, starting from her ankle and pressing kissing up the path your hands just moved. When you reached her knee, you kissed the cap and then moved inwards, kissing the inside of Brittany's left thigh and dragging your tongue up it. Brittany shuddered, her thighs flexing and you settled down on your stomach, your right hand gliding up the opposite thigh as you went back to kissing the skin, your eyes drifting back up to meet blue as your sucked some skin into your mouth, releasing it and smirking at the darkness of it._

_You don't know why, but you just wanted to mark her. You wanted her to remember that this was happening and you wanted her to do the same to you._

_You kissed her thighs over and over, poking your tongue out until you could feel the heat coming from her. You were so close, and you held eye contact with her as you lifted her leg over your shoulder and then finally dipped your head, running your tongue along the length of her to take your first taste._

_And it was the most incredible thing. You groaned as you sucked our tongue back into your mouth and wet your lips before moving back again, pressing your lips against her and smirking at the way she squirmed. You stroked your tongue through her, flicking it at the top and wrapping your lips around her clit, sucking with intent. Her back arched off the bed and she moaned loudly, and the sound was so hot that you had to press your hips down against the mattress to try and relieve some of the arousal curdling within._

_But you kept moving your mouth against her, smiling against hot flesh as a pale hand scrabbled down the bed, in search for yours. And you gave in, moving your hand up and grabbing hers, fingers sliding together as your other hand made an opposite path down her other thigh, not resting on you, picking it up and hooking it over your shoulder. It made your face heat up, being pressed between your thighs but you didn't care; if you could, you knew you'd stay here, doing this for as long as she could take it. She just tasted so damn good, felt so damn good and you were enjoying her reactions to the movement of your tongue way too much to just let it go._

_So you kept going, dipping down when she began panting your name, over and over and you pushed inside of her, humming as she clenched around you. You could feel her orgasm coming. You could literally taste it on your tongue and you were determined to push her the edge. You wanted to make her come and so you smoothed your hand not wrapped around hers up her body, marveling at the way her ab muscles twitched beneath your touch and you grasped her breast gently, the pad of your thumb rolling over her nipple._

_It must have been what she needed because when you pulled your tongue back and ran your tongue through her folds, choosing to suck on her clit once more, she came hard. Her back arched off the bed, her hand tightening around your own and the syllables of your name spilling from her lips. It was the most heavenly thing, watching her orgasm punch through her and you almost stopped what you were doing in favor of watching her._

_But you wanted to continue making her feel good. You wanted to bring her down from her high and so you kept sliding your tongue through her, dipping just a little inside her until she was panting heavily and saying, "San, San, I can't, stop," whilst reaching down with her free hand to grasp at your shoulder. She was tugging you up but you kept still for a moment, smirking against heated flesh and pressing one last kiss between her legs before shifting up, laying your body on top of hers, between her thighs._

_You just felt so comfortable and she dropped your clasped hands, cupped your cheeks and stared you in the eye. She was breathing heavily, her body still twitching as she continued to get off and you smirked, bit on your bottom lip and realized that even though her make up was a little smudged, even though her hair was tousled and tangled, littered across the pillow and even though there was a light glistening to her skin and a flush covering her neck, she looked absolutely breathtaking. You'd never seen her look more beautiful than right at that moment._

_Though you didn't manage to admire for long because she pulled your face down for a kiss once she caught her breath, not hesitating in sliding her tongue into your mouth as her hands slid down and around you to keep you against her. _

_And as she moaned at the taste of herself in your mouth, you just smiled into the kiss._

/

There's a knock on the door ten minutes after your phone call with Quinn and you grudgingly climb off the couch, setting your coffee down to head over to it.

The second you open it, a body barrels into your legs; small, thin arms wrapping around your legs and you chuckle, rustling Beth's hair before she runs off and jumps on to your sofa. It's one of those corner ones, even though it's not against a wall, and Beth loves it. She always sits in the corner with her toys spread out either side of her. It's kind of adorable, actually. Even if you aren't really a fan of kids yourself.

Your eyes follow the little girl and when you see her take a seat, you finally flick your vision back to Quinn, standing at your front door with her face scrunched up, eyebrow lifted as she takes in your outfit.

"No offense, Lopez," she says and you just know that whatever she's going to say _will _be offensive. "But you look like shit."

You glance down at yourself, taking in the sweatpants and baggy shirt and—well, yeah, you are dressed like crap. Still, you don't like her pointing it out to you. You scoff and turn away, heading back to the sofa and slumping down on it.

"Screw you, Fabray," you hiss, lowly, knowing there's a five-year old sitting barely a meter away from you.

Quinn follows you and sits down gingerly next to you, her face etched with concern. You just look to her because wasn't she supposed to be at work? That was the whole reason for you babysitting her kid, right?

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?" You question, knowing that _yeah, _she does.

"I am," she confirms and you narrow your eyes at her. "But something tells me you have something to tell me."

You freeze at her words. Shit. Maybe Brittany did tell her. But then why would she be all calm and crap. There's no way in hell that she'd be cool if she found out that you fucked your best friend—and _her _best friend, for that matter—last night. She'd be flipping her shit, yelling at you and telling you that you're an idiot and that Brittany's not another one of your skanks and you shouldn't be treating her like one. Which you're not, even though leaving this morning really isn't supporting you here, but you only left because you were freaking out. You didn't do a hump and dump. You'd never do that to Brittany.

Although you suppose that even though, yeah, there's like a ninety-nine percent chance that Quinn would react like that... if Quinn Fabray is one thing, it's unpredictable. She might be cool about it, or she might actually know and just be playing you to see if you'd tell her because she's sneaky like that.

And so as you stare at her, you almost say it but at the very last second, you chicken out and close your mouth, swallowing the words. You can't say them out loud. If you do, then last night was real.

"No," you finally say, almost like a sigh. "I'm fine. Just barely got any sleep last night."

The second the words leave your mouth, you realize how they could've been interpreted, but before you can correct yourself, you see the raised eyebrow and the smirk on your friends lips and shit, she's already thought of it that way. Quinn might seem like a goody-goody two shoes but shit, she knows her stuff. She's not as innocent as she seems.

"Really?" She quirks and throws you a wink.

You just roll your eyes because yeah, you totally did get laid last night but not with some random girl at a bar. But you're not going to say that. "No, not that," you say, finding yourself chuckling nervously through it. "I just had... It was just a long night. We got kicked out the club because the electrics went or something."

It's at that moment you remember the strange encounter you had with Brittany on the dance floor. Shit. You two nearly kissed there. You didn't because the lights and music cut off and totally ruined the moment, but had they stayed on... you would've kissed her on the dance floor. And you don't know why this is making you think so much, but you're sure it's significant. Both of you didn't seem even bothered by that, just shrugged it off like it was normal but now you can't help but wonder if that lead to the events that happened last night. Or would it have stopped them?

Or maybe it was just a long time coming.

No. No, definitely not. That's ridiculous. You're just best friends.

"Earth to Santana?" Quinn calls and you nearly jump forward in surprise. Damn. How long were you out?

"Uh, yeah?"

"I said I've gotta go," your friend says, eying you curiously. You know she thinks you're acting weird and you just make a point not to look at her. But she stands and crosses her arms over her chest, staring down at you. "Seriously, what is up with you?"

You force as much nonchalance into your body as physically possibly and climb to your feet to join her. "Nothing," you say with a fake smile. "I think I'm just having a funny five minutes."

Hazel eyes narrow even further, almost as if they're closed and you freeze, hoping that she doesn't know about you and Brittany because you just flat out lied to her face.

"Right," she draws out the word and stares into your eyes for a long moment before turning and heading toward the door, briefly stopping to kiss Beth on the top of the head. "Well, I'll pick Beth up later."

You nod and she leans forward after opening the door, kissing you on the cheek as you hold the door for her and you watch your best friend walk down the hallway toward the elevator, disappearing into it with one last wave.

When she's gone, you shut the door and rest your forehead against it before Beth calls out, "Sanny!" and you force a smile before twisting around and move to join her on the sofa to help color in her books.

/

_After you laid together, kissing softly for what felt like the most amazing hours of your life, Brittany suddenly flipped you over with a strength you didn't know she had and straddled you._

_She grinned down at you, her hands sliding up your ribcage and brushing over your nipples and the touch made your hips buck, your throbbing erection pressing against her wetness. It felt so incredible and she groaned, pressing down on you as she threw her head back, moaning at the sensation; but she didn't move to go any further. At first you thought it was nerves, but when you squeezed her thighs reassuringly, she tipped her head back down, stared down at you and smirked as she rotated her hips, rocking against you in the most arousing way._

_You knew she was teasing you, and so you let your hands drift up her thighs, rub over her stomach before they moved down, your thumb rubbing circles over her clit. She jerked at the touch, her back buckling and she braced herself on your chest, keeping herself up, her hair falling in a curtain around you. Her dark, wide eyes bored into yours and she licked her swollen lips, ducking her head the rest of the way to kiss you and you swore you never wanted anything more in your life._

_She kissed you like she'd been wanting to for a long time, and you brought your hands up to her hips, squeezing them gently as her hands cupped your cheeks. You kept kissing her, never wanting to stop and you only had to when your lungs burned for oxygen._

_But then she was gazing down at you, the atmosphere around you softening as she smiled and she was asking you something with her eyes. Something her mouth couldn't produce and you felt your heart jump into your throat when you realized what was supposed to happen next. But you were eagerly anticipating it, too, and so you just nodded back, watching as she bit her lip and sat up, reached over to the side table and pulled open the drawer, grabbing a small packet from inside. She shifted back on to your thighs and you winced at the sudden space between you because before you were _so _close to where you wanted to be._

_Except warm hands were suddenly on you, holding your shaft as the other hand skilfully rolled a condom over your tip and down your length and your stomach quivered, heart skipped a beat as she stared up at you, holding your eyes as she moved to her knees and shifted up, grabbing a firm hold of you at the base and positioning you at her entrance. You gulped, moving your hands to her thighs and you couldn't help yourself as you dropped your vision to your cock, _so _damn close to her core. You could feel the heat on you and sucked in your lips, deciding at the last second to meet her eye one as she sunk down on to you._

_It pulled a groan from deep within you and you forced yourself to keep your eyes open despite the pleasure coursing through you telling you to shut them and marvel in this moment. But it felt so much better with eye contact, even if you'd always said the opposite before. _

_She slowly lowered herself, and you held on to her as you felt her stretch to accommodate your size. You knew you weren't small, and you didn't know how it would effect her, so you just wanted to comfort her and know you weren't going to jerk up and bury yourself inside her. _

_No matter how much you yearned to be inside her completely. _

_She lowered her hips, whimpering and stopping halfway down on you and you just watched in sheer admiration with hooded eyes as she rose and dropped, taking in a few more inches before doing it once more and finally settling flush against your lap, you completely buried within._

_It felt so good, and even though you were waiting for her to move, you could feel her walls clenching around you, massaging your member and you knew you weren't going to last as long as you would've liked. You were just too hot for this, too ready, and small, short shock waves of pleasure and satisfaction sparked around your body. You were already close to coming and you hadn't even started moving inside of her yet._

_But then after a few deep, shuddered breaths, Brittany leaned forward, pressing both palms to your breastbone and lifted her hips. The silky heated friction around your shaft made your eyes roll back into your head and your fingers pressed into the skin of her thighs as she sunk back down, taking you in once more. She repeated the motion, her breath getting more staggered as she continued and you watched in awe as you disappeared inside her. It just felt so good. _Too _fucking good and the pressure in the base of your spine was almost embarrassingly heavily._

_You were determined to make her feel good. You wanted to make her feel good again, it was just addictive. So you stroked your hands up her thighs, urging her on and you ignored the way she felt so wet and hot around you because the thoughts added with the image of her riding you were definitely going to drive you over the edge; and you couldn't let that happen. Not just yet anyway._

_So you bit your lip and pressed the back of your head harder into the pillow at the sucking clenching of her muscles. She moved against you, rotating and grinding her hips and you forced yourself to open you eyes because you wanted to see it. You wanted to memorize all of it: of the way you felt inside her and the way she looked as you hit _that _spot inside her. Of the way her face contorted with pleasure and the way her eyes locked with yours, her eyes threatening to close as she picked up the pace, slamming down on your lap. You wanted to remember it all and prolong the image for as long as you lived, but you could feel by her thrusts that she was getting tired and you were going to be damned if that image was taken away from you this fast._

_With your hands sliding down and wrapping around the underneath of her thighs, you held her steady as you began thrusting your hips up. On the first movement she buckled forward, her body collapsing against yours as she panted and whimpered into your neck, but you just kept up your movements, breathing equally as heavily as her you buried yourself deep inside her, tapping a spot that you knew would drive her crazy. And it did because she bit down on your neck, muffling her moans and you smirked, keeping a rhythm that pleasured you both._

_Then the hands on your chest drifted up, cupped your cheeks and you opened your eyes, unsure of when they closed, to find blue eyes staring back down at you, pleasure flashing across them. You swallowed, wet your lips and you wanted to kiss her; but before you could lift your head to close the gap, she had already bent down and pressed her lips to yours. With the rhythm set, and the heaviness of both your breathing, you couldn't kiss for long but you held it as long as possibly before she pulled back, rested her forehead against yours and stared deeply into your eyes._

_You were both panting against each others mouths, your hips still jerking up and Brittany shifted once more, kissing you again gently before resuming gazing at you in a daze. Your lips were almost touching and distantly, you could hear the obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh but neither of you noticed. You were both too caught up in each others eyes. You were both breathing in a cycle, you out and Brittany in, and you were both focused on this intense connection you were sharing._

_It felt magical._

_Shit. It _was _magical._

_Though it didn't take long before Brittany was squeaking as you repeatedly hit a spot inside of her, and you enjoyed the sound so much, the arousal and heat multiplying in and around you that you just had to keep the rapid pace. You knew you'd ache in the morning but you couldn't care, you wanted to make Brittany feel good and you managed. _

_With two more well-aimed thrusts, Brittany came undone, bringing your mouths together fast and moaning as her body spasmed, orgasm punching through her. Her hot, slick walls clenched around you, tightening over your shaft but you were so mesmerized by how she looked, her eyes squeezed shut, her face close to yours and pleasure etched across her face that you almost completely forgot about coming yourself._

_But apparently she didn't and even though her breath was still, she rotated and ground her hips down hard and that was that; you snapped, like a rubber band and held still, so deep inside of her as you let yourself go, pouring everything you had into the condom._

/

You didn't even know it was so early.

It's just turned nine in the morning and you yawn, stretching out along the length of the sofa as Beth plays in front of you, coloring in Aladdin and Jasmine. You're so tired but you've got babysitting duty and now you kind of regret saying yes to Quinn. But you couldn't have said no, and plus, you're like, Beth's Godmother. That's important and so it's your responsibility to look after her. Plus she isn't exactly a bad kid, a little too _Quinn _at times but that's just normal; Quinn is her mother after all.

Still, your body's tired and even though you force yourself to stay awake, you find yourself lying on your back and staring at the ceiling, your hands folding over your stomach.

You know why you're tired, for obvious reasons, and those same reasons explain why your body is sore, too, but that's not the point. Though last night, as much as you don't want to think it, you slept amazingly. It may have been a short sleep, but it was certainly sweet and you know there was only one reason for that: you didn't fall asleep alone.

You fell asleep holding Brittany.

/

_Brittany was draped over you, your hands sliding up and down the sweaty skin of her back, and you were both trying to catch your breath._

_You'd just experienced the single most amazing orgasm of your life, and you knew that later you'd freak out about that, but at that moment, you were just so relaxed. You felt incredible, exhausted and satiated and you smiled softly as Brittany nuzzled into your neck, but you just wanted to sleep then. You wanted to hold Brittany as you fell asleep and so you rolled her to the side, slipping out of her and you both groaned, it turning into a giggle because you think both of you realized how much you wanted to be connected like that again._

_But you were both on the brink of sleep as it was and so you decided not to give into that urge, no matter how hard that was (no pun intended) and reached down, snapping the condom off and chucking it skillfully into the bin by the door. Her arms wrapped around you immediately after you were free, and you shifted toward her, grabbing the sheet and meeting her in the middle as your legs intertwined, covering you both with it._

_Both your bodies clicked together, fit like puzzle pieces that were supposed to align and you sighed into the feeling, staying silent until she opened her eyes and met yours. They were so clear, so blue and you breathed out unevenly at the sight. She was so beautiful that you were sure you would never find any other woman attractive ever again. _

_And you were sure she had read your mind because the corners of her lips twitched up, curving into the softest and warmest of smiles and you found yourself blushing, wetting your lips as you prepared yourself to kiss her. You just wanted to, and you knew you could so you did it; you pressed your lips against hers and let your hand drift to her hip as one of hers came up to your cheek, cupping it gently and just melted into the feeling of that moment, of you kissing her, of you being that lucky._

_You stayed there for a long while, just kissing, lips against lips, nothing more, but finally she pulled back, sucking in a deep breath through her nose before she ducked her head and curled up against you, her head buried beneath your neck as your arms wound around her body, keeping her against you. Holding her against you._

_And you both fell asleep that way._

_You just felt complete with her in your arms._

/

It's quarter to twelve when there's a knock on your door, and you grunt as you climb off the sofa, knowing you're probably going to pass out on your shift. You're all ready to leave, and you're a little pissed that Quinn left it this late to pick up her daughter because you've got fifteen minutes until your shift starts and it takes ten minutes to get there on a good day, and seeing as you have no idea what the subway's like now, you're just hoping the God's are shining down on you today because you really don't want Will to fire your ass because you were late.

(It actually happens a lot.)

So as you walk to the door, you prepare yourself to give Quinn a good tongue lashing and you rip open the door.

Though you freeze the second your eyes land on the person outside, or rather _people, _because okay, yeah, it _is _Quinn...

But she's not alone.

She's with Brittany.

Fuck.

/

**Thank you for the reviews/follows/favorites etc! **

**And if by any tiny weeny chance you feel like leaving another comment for this chapter, you'd be making a girl very happy ;)**


	4. Chapter 3

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Three]  
**Rating: **NC-17**  
****Length: **10.7k

**Notes: **Holy crap the feedback on this is amazing! Thank you! And on a side note, I'd just like to answer a few questions I read on the reviews:  
- To _snixxwanky_ and _m83fan_, I know you'd like to see a G!P Brittany fic, but I just don't want to write one, so I'm not going to, but thank you for the suggestion.  
- To _Guest_, fair enough if you think my stories are a broken record but I don't give a crap. Go find another author and read their stories.  
- To _Spencer007_, I don't have a specific number of chapters for this. I'm going to go with a flow and see what happens. I doubt it'll be a long fic, though.  
- To everyone else, THANK YOU AND LOVE YOU. Love you guys up there ^ too.

/

You don't think you've taken a breath for the thirty-two seconds you've been standing here.

Your eyes are just locked on to Brittany and she was staring back at you for the four seconds that followed you opening the door, but now she's looking down at the floor, apparently finding her white Chucks much more interesting than you. Or rather she doesn't know what to say to you and you understand that because you're not quite sure what to say either; but you're very aware that Quinn's standing right in front of you, obviously seeing what's going on and you falter, forgetting the right etiquette for answering a damn door.

"Are you gonna let us in or shall I shut the door and we can knock again?" Quinn quips and you're broken from your daze, making eye contact with your other friend.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," you mumble and stand aside, letting them through.

Your entire body tenses when Brittany makes her way in, wringing her hands nervously in front of her and biting her lip, and you make a point not to breathe even now because you know exactly how she smells and it's intoxicating. Plus it'll make you think about last night and well, not appropriate.

So she just brushes past you and you shut the door, following her into the living room and trying not to think about how even though she looks beautiful naked, with jeans and a t-shirt on, she looks beautiful, too. It's like someone just gave you glasses and now you can see clearly. Damn it.

"Where are you baby?" Quinn half-yells and you see Beth poke her head over the top of the sofa, widening with excitement as she spots her mom.

"Here, mommy!" Beth shouts back, jumping down from the sofa with an audible thump and sprinting toward Quinn, jumping into her arms when she gets there.

You just stand awkwardly next to Brittany, not knowing what to say or do because now you're sort of left alone with her. Well not alone, but you and Brittany are about five steps from the door and Quinn and Beth are in the living room so yeah, that totally counts as alone.

"So, Britt?"

The blonde beside you lifts her head. "Yeah?"

"You're okay with looking after Beth now?"

Ah. You were wondering why Brittany was here. Not that you didn't want her to be, but... Shit. You don't even know.

"Sure," she replies, tucking her hair behind her hair and you barely let your head twist, eyes sliding to the left to look at her. She doesn't stare back, and you know she knows you're looking at her because her eyes drop and she swallows audibly. Why won't she look at you?

"Great," Quinn grunts as she picks up her daughter and hitches her on her hip, cradling her carefully.

"Wait," you say, finally processing that Brittany's looking after Beth. "Where are you going?"

You eye her curiously and it's only now that you realize Quinn's not wearing her work clothes, but a white and baby blue sundress. Her hair's a little tousled and you can tell she's wearing more make-up than usual, and you narrow your eyes. She's all dressed up. Why? And also, why didn't you notice when she walked in the door?

Oh, yeah. You were too involved in looking at your best friend who you just happened to have the most incredible sex with last night. That kind of thing tends to distract you.

"And why are you all dressed up?" You add.

Quinn grins at you, her eyes flicking to Brittany. "I have a date," she answers and looks down to Beth to see if the little girl heard but she's way too preoccupied with playing with her short blonde hair.

"Seriously!? With who?" You almost screech. Quinn has a fucking date! But wait, hold the phone... It's only midday. "What kind of lame ass date is this?" You ask and you feel Brittany's eyes snap to you disapprovingly. At least she looked at you. "It's at lunch," you deadpan in explanation.

Quinn tilts her head to the side, face clearly unimpressed. "Who's the one with the date here?" She says, making a jab at your single life before she flicks her hair like one of those hair shampoo ads. Beth begins playing with her necklace instead. "And it's with a customer at work. He's a busy man and so am I, and it was the only time we could do it," she shrugs.

You think it over but then nod, because yeah, that's fair enough. Quinn's always busy and even though you'd totally offer to look after Beth whilst she went out for needed sexy times—you swear that girl hasn't gotten laid in like, years—you guess that a lunch date isn't that bad. Especially with her schedule.

But as your thoughts run, you hear Brittany speak up from beside you and your entire body jumps at the chance to hear her voice. She's been quiet for the entire time and now your body's feeling all tingly because she's talking. You kind of really like the sound of her voice. Damn it.

"Quinn, you know the rules on dating a customer," Brittany mumbles and your scrunch your eyebrows together. Rules? "If Will finds out he's going to be pissed."

Quinn just rolls her eyes. "They're not rules. More like... guidelines, and he won't find out anyway," she says and waves her free hand flippantly. "Plus this guy is totally cute. His name's Artie."

Your mind picks up on the name faster than you tell it to and then you gasp. You totally remember that guy. "Hold up," you say, holding a hand up and lifting an eyebrow. "Isn't that the guy in the wheelchair?"

"Just because he's disabled doesn't mean he's not a nice guy," Brittany cuts in and you whip your head around to stare at her, your eyes growing wide at her tone. She just fucking snapped at you. What the hell?

(At least she talked to you.)

"I didn't say that," you reply, dipping your tone and you manage to hold her eyes for three seconds before she glances away, the muscles in her jaw tightening visibly. Why is she pissed at you?

"You were implying it, though," Quinn chimes in with one raised brow; and shit, what is this? Pick on Santana day? Jheeze.

"You're twisting my words," you spit back and Quinn rolls her eyes again. She almost does it as much as you do.

"No, I'm not," she says and looks over you, a smirk playing on her lips. "You're just jealous because you haven't had sex in months."

The second the words leave her mouth, your entire body tenses. You feel your muscles lock, bones go rigid and you swear you stop breathing as you let your eyes flick to Brittany. You just need to see her reaction to Quinn's words, and sure enough, she is reacting. Her head's dropped back down again, eyes focused on the ground, or her Chucks or whatever, but you can see through the slight curtain of hair surrounding her that her ears are turning pink.

And that's when it hits you.

Fuck. Last night really _did_ happen.

(Not that you thought it didn't but this is just confirmation of what you already knew.)

"But anyway, you've gotta go to work," Quinn says, pointing to you. "And you've gotta look after her," she continues, pointing to Brittany and then back to Beth who's now pressed her face into her neck. But then Quinn's eyes narrow and you somehow tense further, knowing that she's taking in the way Brittany's pointedly look down. "What are you doing, Britt?"

Thankfully, Brittany straightens up right away, her eyes flicking to you but you just look away, not wanting to meet her eye. It really did happen and now you're not sure what this means for you and Brittany. Or rather, your friendship. If there was one thing you learned from high school, it was that you don't sleep with your best friend. You totally did that and lost your best friend because of it. Now you've done it again.

Really, you deserve a clap on the back.

"Nothing," Brittany replies quickly and you know Quinn's suspicious.

Which is exactly why you're not in the least bit surprised when you see Quinn eying both of you warily, her vision flicking between both of you like she's trying to figure something out. "Okay, what's going on?" She finally asks, a little demanding and angered but it just makes something snap inside of you.

"Nothing, God. Look, can we just fucking leave already?" You retort through a hiss and you know you're being unnecessarily angry and rude but you can't help it. It's just like self-defense. "My shift starts in like, eight minutes and I'm gonna be late as it is."

And Quinn must feel bad about you being late for your shift, or reason that keeping you here after you just looked after her daughter for a few hours is probably a little unfair and so she nods slowly, but stares at you and Brittany, almost examining you two for a long moment before she eventually gives up and walks toward the door. Then you grab your coat and leave, all stepping outside your building and stopping because this is where you're supposed to say goodbye.

But you don't bother and just kiss Beth on the top of the head before pulling up the lapels of your jacket and turning away with another word.

And as you walk away, you hate that even though you know both of them are watching you leave, there's only one pair of eyes burning holes into the back of your head.

/

Your shift was supposed to end at eight, but when Kristen, one of your colleagues, came in with red rimmed eyes and smudged mascara tracks down her cheeks, telling you that she'd just had an argument with her boyfriend and thought they'd broken up, you felt a pang of sympathy and told her to go home. You needed some distraction anyway, and so you stayed on for the late shift. She'd thanked you, and you rolled your eyes and as she walked away and even tried to check out her ass as a little thanks to yourself, but you just didn't feel the same thrill anymore. You knew who had the best ass, one that you'd had the pleasure to touch and it seemed your body did too because you didn't even react, nor were you interested.

Really, last night totally fucked with your mind.

Anyway, you finish at eleven and close up, entering the alarm and heading out the door after turning out the switch. You lock it, stick the keys back in your pocket and turn around, taking a deep breath as you look up and down the street for a cab. Of course, there aren't any and you roll your eyes because you just need the sky to cloud over and start bucketing down with rain and then you'll have a cosmic approval to feel the way you do.

Though you're so confused at the minute that if the weather reflected your feelings, you're sure it might suddenly snow or the sun might pop up now and then. You're just that kind of confused.

With a deep sigh, you begin your walk home, holding your coat close to yourself. Your feet really fucking ache, your back does too, and you know you're going to have to set a reminder on your phone or something to tell Will that you took Kristen's shift because otherwise she'll get paid for the hours you did; and Kristen is kind of one of those girls that would just take the money instead of telling him that she didn't do the hours.

You also need to do the laundry and change the sheets on your bed and—

Fuck. You can't even pretend like you're thinking about anything else. You're thinking about last night and Brittany.

It's_ all_ you can freaking think about.

In fact, you managed to fuck up at least three customers orders because you were so caught up in your head that you kept forgetting how many shots of espresso they wanted or whether they wanted a cream or coffee based frappe. Like shit, your mind is working to hard to divert your oncoming thoughts to something else completely spontaneous that you can actually feel a damn headache coming on.

You need a fucking Advil, or like a few whiskey shots and beer chases and even a cigar, just to try to forget.

Although you know how stupid that is: to think that you can just forget about what happened between you and Brittany. You mean, you could ignore it and pretend like it never happened, but today was enough proof that you and Brittany are all kinds of weird and awkward around each other and you don't want to not be friends with her. You want your friendship back. To like how it was, before you slept with each other.

And you know she doesn't feel anything for you because of how she acted toward you earlier. She didn't even want to meet your eye, and the only time she even talked to you was when she was snapping at you. Brittany wouldn't have reacted like that if she like liked you. If she did, she probably would've been fine with it and okay, that kind of sucks a little that you can't even get your best friend to like you, but you're fine with it.

Because you don't like her. Not like that anyway. She's an amazing friend, the most amazing friend, but you just don't think you feel that way about her.

Like, okay, last night you two had a connection but both of you had been drinking. Both of you just wanted to get laid and you were both there for each other. It was just.. convenient. And most importantly, it was a mistake.

And you don't want a silly little mistake to ruin your friendship with her. You're certain she doesn't either.

Which means you need to talk to her. You need to talk it out with her and get past this awkward after-sex stage.

And you need to do it as soon as possible.

/

You stare up at the building, your hands buried deep in your pockets and your neck aching from the unnatural angle it's tilted at.

You know you need to talk it out with her. Hell, that's the only reason why you came here, but you can't help but feel nervous.

It feels like you're about to throw up your stomach and your nails are digging so deep into your palms that you're sure you might bleed soon. Because this isn't just another conversation with another one of your one night standers, telling them that you don't want to repeat what happened because you don't like them, this is having a conversation with your _best friend_, telling them that you don't want to lose your friendship because of what happened.

It may seem like the same thing, but you know it's not. They're two very different things, especially because with one night standers you couldn't give a shit how they felt—you're kind of a bitch—but with Brittany, you care so much about how she feels.

Fuck, you care more about she feels than you care about yourself, or anyone else for that matter. She's your best friend.

So you brace yourself, take a really, really big breath and head inside, stepping into the elevator cart and going to Brittany's floor. When you step out and look to your left to stare at Brittany's door at the end of the hall, your heart's hammering so hard against your chest you think it might actually burst through and your pulse is roaring so loud in your ears you may not be able to hear properly again.

Still, you force your shaky limbs to take you to her door, and you don't even hesitate in rapping your knuckles against it because you know if you do, the hesitation will lead to doubt and the doubt will lead to over-thinking and the over-thinking will lead to your quick escape down the hall with your tail between your legs and your friendship will Brittany left in a trail of dust behind you. And you came here for a reason so you're sure as hell not leaving until you've done what you need to do.

The second that thought goes through your head, you hear the sound of locks clicking and then the door swings open. Then Brittany's right there, her eyes widening and lips dropping open into a silent 'o' as they take in who's standing before her.

And you instantly feel uncomfortable, and just shift, hating the silence but forcing yourself to look her in the eye as you say, "We need to talk."

Brittany stares at you for what feels like the longest thirty-one seconds of your life before she stands aside, letting you in.

/

Now that you're here, you realize just how stupid it was to think that you could talk this out with Brittany when not even twenty-four hours ago, you were having sex with her in this very same apartment.

Hell, on the sofa that you're now staring down at, debating whether to sit on, you were grinding against her in the least innocent way possible and her hands were wrapped around your neck and urging you deeper into a kiss.

Shit. No. You need to stop fucking thinking like that.

"Do you want anything to drink?"

You spin around, your eyes meeting hers. "Uh, no," you reply. "Thank you."

She smiles sheepishly, still standing by the door and there's a good five meters between you and you just want to cross it and hug her, tell her you're sorry and just sort this out but you're just too damn nervous and awkward. You don't even know where to start.

"So," she starts and you thank her inwardly. You don't think you could've started it. "What did you wanna talk about?"

You bite your lip and watch her come toward you, making sure to put a large gap between you as she brushes past and takes a seat in the armchair. A seat for one. Great. If you didn't feel rejected before, now you sure as hell do.

"You know what I wanna talk about," you sigh and gingerly take a seat on _that_ sofa. You desperately force your brain to block out the images that snap to mind.

Brittany just nods and you watch her gulp. "Yeah," she says and blows out her cheeks, dropping her eyes before lifting them and meeting you again. "Look, Santana, I—"

"It was a mistake," you blurt out and you're not sure what made you do it, but now it's just out there and you watch her face go from shock to what you think is rejection and then to hurt. Your chest tightens at the sight, and you wish you could just pluck the words from the air, tuck them back in your pocket and bury them deep inside like you never said it because now, seeing her reaction, you don't think last night was a mistake. Shit.

You just can't stop fucking things up.

You go to say that, but then her face shifts and the words you want to say slide back down your throat, away from your tongue because she's now just sitting there, hands folded on her lap and she's looking at you with an expression you just can't read. It's blank, but somehow it's not a negative blank and you feel your heart stutter because you know you're not going to like the words that are about to be spoken.

And you don't.

"I agree."

You didn't realize two little words could completely crush you. Something inside of you breaks and you swallow, suck in your lips and do the only thing your body can do: nod. You don't know why you're suddenly feeling like you were hit by a ten ton lorry, or why your heart feels like it's lodged itself in your throat because that was the sole purpose of coming here; to tell Brittany that it was a mistake. But now she's confirmed it, now she's agreed, it feels like you were just rejected by something that you just... rejected yourself

It doesn't make any sense, but you figure that you're only feeling weird because you never get rejected. Like literally, ever.

This is just a first. That's why you feel like that.

That's all.

Still, you can't stop yourself from saying, "You do?"

Brittany just looks at you, her eyes holding yours as she swallows, taking her time to answer. "I do," she finally replies and if possible, your heart sinks again. "I just think... I think it's better if we forget about it," she continues, dipping her head, eyes going to her hands, fidgeting around on her lap. "We were drunk," she begins again, voice a little stuttered but you can't hear anymore so you cut her off, deciding that if she's going this way about it, telling you every reason why it was wrong, you're going to join in.

"Yeah, we were drunk," you echo with a shrug, pressing your lips together as you stare at her with cold eyes. "We were drunk and we needed a warm body and we were just there for each other."

This time Brittany tilts her head up, eyes flitting to you and you grind your teeth together a little, curdling the words that you know will solidify your friendship with her but ruin any chance of anything ever happening again.

(Not that you'd want it to, obviously.)

"It meant nothing."

You literally see the light disappear from her eyes, but she holds strong, not physically faltering or reacting to your words. You've got to give her that because inside, you're screaming to say that you didn't mean it because you don't know what the hell last night meant, but you know it didn't mean nothing. There was something there, you know both of you felt it, but you don't think that you like her and you don't think she likes you, either, so it doesn't really matter.

"Exactly," she monotones. "So we'll just forget that it happened, and you can just ignore that I ever... well, you know."

This catches your attention because you don't know. "That you ever what?"

Brittany bites her lip and looks at you, her face showing that she's said too much. But you don't know what's going on. You don't have a clue and you feel like you're the only one that doesn't because Brittany's face is half-confused and half-disbelieving like she can't figure out whether you're screwing with you or not.

"That I ever..." Her head dips, fingers stilling in her lap and her voice turns into a whisper. "That I ever liked you."

You freeze, your eyes wide and lips parted because damn... you weren't expecting that. You just stare, blink and a million thoughts rush through your head. Brittany likes you? Or liked you? When the hell did that happen? How didn't you know? You always know when someone's into you and this has completely blindsided you. Seriously, what the fuck? You literally didn't have an inkling and now she's staring at you like you should probably say something soon but you don't know what to say. You're confused, and now you feel a little light-headed and shit.

"What?" She says instead, and you can tell she's conscious of the way you're staring at her. You just can't help it.

"You..." Your voice cracks and you clear your throat, a crease forming between your brows. "You... liked me?"

"Well, yeah," Brittany answers, the words coming out through a dry laugh, but it sounds pained and you wince.

How did you not know that?

Your eyes dart around her apartment, your mind trying to process the information just given but you just can't. It's just so much to take in and you don't know how you didn't see the signs before. She was always a little touchier with you then she was with Quinn, but you thought that was just Brittany being Brittany. She always smiled at you a little longer than necessary, and always used to go that step further, like bringing you your favorite chicken noodle soup from that strange little store on the corner when you were ill and spending all day watching Disney films with you, but you just thought that was Brittany being your best friend.

You never thought it meant more.

"You—You did?"

Brittany jerks her head back, her breath hitching. "You didn't know?" She asks, slowly.

You just suck in your lips, wanting to explain that you didn't with words but you're a little speechless at the moment and so all you can offer her is a slight shake of your head because no, you definitely didn't know. Brittany's eyes grow wide at the movement and you watch her ears turn pink since apparently she didn't know that you didn't know, and as confusing as that may be, you can't really focus on that because now not only do you feel incredibly stupid for sleeping with her last night, but now you feel really fucking guilty.

"I thought you knew," she adds quietly, clearly taking in your shock and you just shake your head again, but then you both delve into silence.

It stays like that for a long moment, the only sound being the breaths you and Brittany take but it feels like you need to say something. Your best friend has just told you that she had feelings for you and now you're all kinds of confused. You can't tell her you knew, or that you liked, or like, her back because you didn't. Before last night, you never even though of Brittany more than a best friend. You always thought she was just the most beautiful, most kind, most caring and loving best friend you'd ever known and that was that. Sure, you thought she was incredibly hot, too, but you know, you think Quinn's alright so you it totally doesn't mean anything.

"How long?" You suddenly blurt out, but it's said through a breath and Brittany doesn't flinch. You think she was expecting it.

"Um, a year," she whispers and your eyes flicker up, taking in the way she's a little slumped in her chair and a pang of guilt strikes you heavily in your stomach as you process her words. A year? How the hell have you been that oblivious. "I mean, I always thought you were... pretty amazing but," she pauses and finally looks to you. "I only knew for certain, about a year ago."

You swallow, your throat feeling so thick you fear you may not be able to breathe but you just nod. You're not even entirely sure what the hell you're nodding to but you're doing it anyway. "Right," you croak and shift, clenching your hands together nervously on your lap. "Britt, I—"

"It doesn't matter, San," she quickly cuts in and your brow furrows as she drops her gaze to the carpet. "I know it's stupid and I know if you'd known you wouldn't have gone through with it so you don't have to feel guilty."

She has a point, but it doesn't mean you feel any better. "But, Britt—"

"No, honestly," she interjects again and she offers you a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Last night we were both drunk and it went too far. I just wanna be friends with you again, with no weirdness."

It's exactly what you came up here to do, to make sure your friendship with Brittany wasn't ruined, but it still feels like someone just popped a pin into the side of your balloon heart. Your heart deflates inside of you and you look away because you don't like the way she's staring at you, with glossy eyes and knitted brows. It's like she's trying her best not to cry and you hate that because you know she wants to cry because of you.

"O—Okay," you agree through a cracked tone. You cough, clear your throat and force a gentle expression on to your face. "Yeah, let's just forget and be friends."

You don't mean the words, and there's a voice in the back of your head shaking its head and clucking its tongue because nothing inside of you wants what you just said. But you don't know what you want. She's your best friend and okay, you slept together but you've slept with more than your fair share of women and you haven't wanted to date them. Admittedly, none of those women were your best friends, but still, your point still stands. Just because you and Brittany slept together and are best friend doesn't mean that you two should start dating. You don't want that.

You think.

"Okay," she breathes out and smiles, but you can see the sadness lingering behind her eyes. "So can we hug and make up? 'Cause we were always touchy and I wanna get past the first awkward hug."

You laugh a little and nod, standing at the same time she does. "Sure, Britt," you say and step forward, wrapping your arms around her waist.

Her arms go around your neck and you shut your eyes against the memory of how it feels to be pressed against Brittany like this without any clothing on, because you have to try and forget about that. You two are trying to get back to normal and thinking about how it felt to move inside her whilst your chests rubbed together is probably not the best way about going about that.

She nuzzles into your neck and you do the same back to her, your fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt as you inhale her scent; but it's the breaking point because she pulls away and you drop your arms to your side, smiling at her. You two can do this, you know you can. Nothing's changed, apart from the physical barrier, but you can just prop the one you had before back up and neither of you will go further than pinkie linking and hugging. Maybe you'll have to tone down on the cuddling, though.

"So, we're friends again?" Brittany asks, her face scrunching with hope in the most adorably way.

You grin, roll your eyes playfully and offer up your pinky. "We'll always be friends, Britt."

She smiles, links her pinky around yours and squeezes gently.

You just take a deep breath.

/

You wake up in the morning and feel a lot better.

You made up with Brittany, Quinn doesn't know which means she's not going to yell at you and everything's cool. You feel so much better than you did yesterday and today is a new day. You're going to make a good one, too. Yesterday was just pretty damn awful so yeah, today will be good. You're one hundred percent sure.

You get up, dress, eat a bit of breakfast and then head off to work. When you get there, you smile at that Kristen chick and she tells you her and her boyfriend made up and is so thankful for what you did yesterday. You tell her that it's okay and that you actually needed a distraction, and she asks you why but you're a closed book when it comes to people that aren't Quinn and Brittany. You never tell anyone anything unless you trust them and so you just shrug and tell her it doesn't matter. Clearly she was asking out of curiosity and not politeness beaus she doesn't pry anymore. Bitch.

Anyway, you're behind the coffee machine, making a customers latte when you hear the front door swing open. Brittany comes bouncing in, looking a lot happier than yesterday and you feel yourself smiling as she looks at you. She smiles back, you two are good now, and you push down the awkwardness because you two can't be awkward. You're both forgetting what happened and that's that.

You drop your eyes back to the coffee machine and get on with the latte, but two seconds later a hand settles on your waist and you hear a small, "Hey," whispered into your ear.

It's always how Brittany used to greet you, but this time you jump a little and feel your skin flare up at the touch. She didn't actually touch your bare skin, but her palm seemed to sizzle through your work shirt and now you're trying not to spill the foam you're putting into the latte as your mind races. Why the hell did you just jump?And why can you feel the imprint of her hand tingling on your skin?

You shake it off, not wanting to know and finish it up before leaning over the counter and shouting out the order. A woman comes to pick it up and you smile as she takes it, before turning back to find Brittany walking out from the back room, tying her apron around her waist.

"Hey," you greet. "You scared me when you came in," you add, not knowing why.

Brittany giggles. "Sorry," she apologizes but she's smiling. She meant to scare you.

You narrow your eyes playfully. "You can be an ass sometimes," you say and her grin widens.

"I know," she replies and skips off to the till.

You turn back to your position at the coffee machine and pick up the next order, but as you do so, you notice Brittany talking to a guy over the counter. He's an older guy, not that old but like, your boss' age, and he's got silver streaks in his hair. At first you smile a little, because Brittany's always friendly to her customers to get a bigger tip, plus she's just generally a nice and friendly person, but then you notice that the customer's lingering around for longer than necessary and that Brittany still hasn't taken his order. The marker's in her hand, and she looks like she isn't moving to grab a cup or a sticker to take it any time soon and you feel a twinge in your stomach as you watch them, realizing that they're flirting.

The guy's grinning—and damn, he must have one killer dental plan 'cause he's got a set of pearly whites on him—and you see Brittany duck her head and bat her lashes up at him when he says something and you know that Brittany flirts with her customers, occasionally winks at that weird computer guy that always sits over in the corner on Thursday's, but this is different. The guy's still standing there and he has been for at least three minutes—according to the timer on the machine. You're totally not counting—and Brittany's ears are pink and she's doing that ridiculously adorable thing where she circles the point of her shoe on the floor in a circle; but that can only mean that this customer's complimenting her in a way she can't take. That's the only time she does the foot thing.

Your eyes narrow and you feel that twinge in your stomach again, but this time it's heavier and goes on for longer as your vision flicks between Brittany and this guy; but you supposed that she's your best friend. She's allowed to flirt with a customer and you just support her in whatever she does, even if this guy is like ancient.

So forcing your eyes away, you look back to the coffee you still haven't made and shoot a fake smile to the impatient customer waiting for it.

Because whether or not Brittany's flirting with this guy, it's none of your business.

And so you just ignore it.

/

When the guy's order comes through, you pick up the cup and scowl at it for about thirty seconds before Brittany looks to you with a quizzical expression.

You just blink out of it, letting your hands work robotically to fulfill the order and when you're finished, you turn to the little table where you dispense the order and find the guy grinning at you. You can't help that your natural reaction is to snarl, but you still try to make it as subtle as possible and carelessly slide his coffee over to him and offer the fakest smile you know how to summon, but he doesn't falter and grins back, thanking you before he walks out the store.

Why are you so bothered by him?

/

You don't talk to Brittany for the rest of your shift.

She attempts to make small talk with you but you're just not in the mood and you only grunt or make a noise of acknowledgment back whenever she asks you a question. You don't know why, because this is totally not how you used to treat her when you two were 'just friends,' but you just can't stop yourself. You just don't really get how Brittany can tell you last night that she likes you, and then today be all over some fucking customer who admittedly, did have the smile of an angel, but was freaking born in the Prehistoric era.

It's just bothering you, or so you think, because one second she says something and the next she's doing something else, and it's like, how are you supposed to know if she was telling you the truth? You mean, you know she wouldn't lie about liking you because that would be pointless, but clearly she didn't like you that much if she can go and so obviously flirt with a guy in front of you not even twelve hours after your conversation.

In fact, you guess it was probably good that you don't have some unspoken deep love for her because if you did, she could've just seriously hurt you.

It's lucky you don't even like her because seeing her flirt with George Clooney after telling you she liked you would've seriously pissed you off or sent you into some rant about how she could do that.

So yeah, it's lucky you don't.

/

Later that night, you get a text from Quinn inviting you over to dinner since Beth's with Puck for the night.

You head on over, taking a bottle of wine and your purse and when you get there, Brittany opens the door. You smile at her, a little shocked that she's here but really, why didn't you think she'd be there anyway? She steps aside and you walk in, and it's all good; you don't feel (that) awkward and Quinn's already serving dinner which means you're not going to be hungry for long and you've brought your favorite bottle of wine so yeah, nothing to complain about.

"So," you start, swallowing your mouthful of pasta. "How your date with the crip?"

Quinn looks to you but shrugs. "It was alright," she says and you frown. You thought she was excited.

"Just alright?" Brittany chimes in, sipping on her wine.

Quinn nods again. "Yeah," she sighs. "I think we're better as friends, though. There wasn't really any chemistry."

You nod along, and try not to think about how when she said 'better as friends' your mind instantly shot to Brittany. Though you're so focused on that, that you don't realize your eyes snapping over to Brittany and how she looks at you like you're on the same brain wave, but when you do, you force yourself to look away. Damn it. You really need to stop making associations to the thing that both of you said you'd forget.

"But anyway, enough of that," Quinn says, lowering her cutlery and folding her arms on top of the table, resting them there. "How was your night out?"

You can't help but tense at the question, your breath hitching but thank the fucking heavens that Brittany's here because she always picks up on things when you can't.

"It was good," she says and you just keep your head down. "We met a bunch of people and they were cool."

Quinn smirks, her eyes shifting to you. "And did you finally get laid?"

The entire room goes silent after the question, and you know you need to say something swiftly because Quinn's definitely not stupid and will most likely pick up on the silence and interpret it for something else. The truth that you did get laid, but hopefully not the truth that involves you and Brittany. So you clear your throat, lift your head and roll your eyes—because that's typical Santana Lopez style—looking straight to Quinn.

"There were a few hot people there," you say with as much nonchalance as possible. Brittany stares at you from the left but you keep your vision centered on to Quinn. "And I could've but you know," your eyes dart to Brittany quickly as your hand stretches out, fingers playing with the stem of the wine glass in front of you. "I could've done better than them."

You're referring to Brittany's words from that night, where she told you, you totally could have had sex with one of those chicks you met, maybe the one up by the bar because she was just screaming for it, and you know she knows because you feel her eyes burning warmth into the side of your face. You're not sure whether that's a good thing, or what it means that you brought that up, but you just wanted to say it and so you did.

"That sounds _nothing _like you," Quinn draws out and your face drops, from where it was apparently shifting into a smile, as you glance at her. "You _always _hook up with someone at clubs. Even if they need a bag over their head."

"Well I didn't," you hiss back, lifting a brow. "And we had to go home early anyway." Quinn eyes you so you elaborate, "The electrics blew out or some shit."

Quinn's head jerks back and your eyes widen slight at what you just implied. "You went _home? _Did you stay with each other then?"

You knew it was coming and you still blank out. Your breath hitches for what feels like the millionth time in two days and you gulps because yeah, you did stay with Brittany and okay, that doesn't necessarily imply that you and Brittany had sex because all three of you sleep over each others places sometimes, but that time it just so happened that you did and now you're freaking out because you think that Quinn's suddenly developed a mind-reading ability and will instantly know that two of her best friends slept together. _Shit._

"Uh, yeah," Brittany cuts in and your eyes snap to her. "The cab drove off because San could get back in," she continues and shifts her vision to you. You nod along. "So she stayed over mine since we'd been drinking and well, it's New York," she says through a chuckle and Quinn joins in.

"Yeah, totally," Quinn agrees and nods, but then there's a buzzing sound and you frown, wondering if Quinn's got to lonely that she finally took a trip to the sex shop a few blocks down, but then she whips out her phone and you inwardly slap yourself in the face. "I'm just going to take this," she points to her phone and you smile, picking up your wine glass.

But then as your friend leaves the room, you realize that you're left alone with Brittany again. In an awkward silence.

You need to stop this from happening, goddamnit.

"Thanks," you splutter around a mouthful of wine. "For you know," your chin juts, pointing toward Quinn's empty chair. "I kind of blanked."

She smiles at you, but it's not as warm as you're used to. "That's fine," she waves you off. "You looked like you were a little frozen."

You bob your head and the conversation trails off, leaving you to awkwardly look around the apartment as your fingers tap against the wine glass you're grasping. And it's then, when you're listening to the uncomfortable silence between you two that you realize just how fucking much you hate that your friendship's turned out like this.

"So... how was work?"

Your eyes slide to Brittany as if to say _really? _Still, despite Brittany making small talk, you suppose she's trying to make the effort and so you answer. "Yeah, it was okay. How was yours?"

Brittany nods, lifts a shoulder. "It was okay."

The corner of your lips curve up but then the silence begins settling in and you think back on the day. Brittany said it was _okay. _Not great, but just okay, and you get this smug little smile on your face because apparently that old guy from before didn't make _that _much of an impression. Ha _fucking _ha. Still though, she might just be wanting to tell you because it might get weird but you want to know, and so you can't help yourself when you pry that bit more.

"Anything interesting happen?"

Brittany lifts her head, eyes narrowing like she's not sure why you're asking her this. You don't really know either. "Not really," she says, brows furrowing a little before they straighten out again. "I mean, I broke the marker and I've gotta pay to replace it."

"Yeah, we've had that for marker for a few months now, so it was time to get a new one."

Brittany offers you a slight smile and then it goes quiet again, and damn, that was definitely some quality small talk right there. _Fuck, _seriously, why is it this fucking awkward? You two said you wanted to be friends and you thought that meant going back. Obviously you weren't naïve or dumb enough to think that everything would snap back, and okay, it's only been a day, but it feels like this is going to drag on forever. And you just don't want that. You want to go back to being best friends with her.

Although you do acknowledge that she likes you, or had done in the past, and that maybe it might take a little longer because of that.

Actually, come to think of it, you're not sure if she _still _likes you or if it was in the past. You never really cleared that up with her.

"What are you guys doing this weekend?"

You snap your head around to find Quinn skipping into the room. You didn't even hear she was coming. "I'm free," you say and look to Brittany who repeats your words.

Quinn grins at you. "Perfect," she says excitedly. "Now let's clear up, move to the sofas and I'll tell you what we're doing."

Not totally sure what's going on, but being entirely intrigued, you nod, find Brittany nodding too and begin clearing up with her as Quinn types away on her phone.

/

Five minutes later and you're all sitting on the sofas. You're on the armchair, your leg swung over the arm rest and your back leaning on the opposite one, and Quinn and Brittany are on the sofa, legs folded beneath them and glasses of wine in hand. You chose to sit here purely because you didn't want to make Brittany feel uncomfortable, or like you were pulling Quinn to your side—not that she knows what's going on but it could totally be interpreted like that—and so this way you won't be on the offensive side... Even though there aren't any sides.

"Are you going to tell us what the plans are for this weekend or are we playing the guessing game?" You ask sarcastically.

Quinn throws you a glare. "Shut up. I was just getting comfortable," she says and shifts on the couch before speaking up. "Right, well basically this weekend there's a reunion type thing for all the workers that have been and gone at the coffee shop."

Every year, the coffee shop gets a flood load of college students applying for temporary employment as they need money to get through their summer, or to survive their next term at college and Will, your boss, is a decent guy. He usually hires quite a few people, and some of them have been useless but you, Quinn and Brittany—being permanent employees as you go to all go to NYU—have met some pretty decent people.

"Who's going?" Brittany asks at the same time you ask, "Why are they coming back?"

Trust you to be the one to get suspicious at all of their simultaneous arrivals.

"The people who will be there are Rachel, Sugar, Kurt, Tina, Mike, Sam, Jake and Marley," Quinn recites off the top of her head without even faltering. Girl's got her plans down. "And they're all coming back for a break or something. Apparently when they were back for Christmas, they all matched their terms up and have the same weeks off," she says with a shrug and sip on her wine.

"Isn't that a bit weird?"

"Not really," Quinn answers to your question. "But anyway, are you guys in?"

"Definitely," Brittany beams and you nod, lifting a shoulder because even though you want to go out with everyone again and see them, you know what happened last time you drank alcohol and you don't want to make anymore mistakes.

"Great, and Britt," Quinn looks to said girl and you can tell in her tone that she was planning for something. "You can ask that guy who gave you his number to come with us."

Something cold drops in your stomach at those words and your eyes dart to Brittany. There's a guy? "What guy?" You ask slowly.

Brittany doesn't even look at you, just keeps her head down and eyes focused on the wine swirling around in her glass. "It's nothing," she mumbles beneath her breath.

"You're such a liar!" Quinn half-yells, pushing playfully at Brittany's shoulder. "Earlier on the phone you were going on about it and now you're trying to play it off!" Your heart drops for the second time in a second. Brittany was going on about this guy? What, and she just _happens _to forget to say anything about you and her? That's _bullshit. _"Come on, Brittany, we're _dying _to hear."

You bring the glass to your lips, muttering, "Yeah, _you_ are," to Quinn beneath your breath and take a sip to cover it.

Because you don't quite know how first, Brittany can be interested in a guy not even twenty-four hours after you and her had a conversation about her liking you, how second, she can have the freaking _cheek _to tell Quinn about it and not you and how last, but certainly not least, she can lie to your damn face about it when you asked her literally ten minutes ago how her day was and whether it was interesting or not. Clearly something interesting _did _happen today because a guy fucking gave her his phone number.

You thought you two agreed to be friends, and now she's keeping things from you? What the fuck?

"It wasn't really anything," Brittany mutters and you clench your jaw, trying to keep your cool. "He'd just been hitting on me for a while and finally gave me his number today."

It's then that you realize who that guy is and the hand you've got resting in your lap curls into a fist. It was that fucking old guy. The one who might as well have had a fucking cane he was that old. Like shit, you were actually tempted to round the counter and ask him if he needed any help to a damn chair because he was looking a little frail. And really? He's been flirting with Brittany for _a while? _How have you never heard about that? You thought you were fucking best friends and now you're starting to doubt it.

Maybe that's why it's so hard to get back to being friends. Maybe you two weren't as good of friends as you thought.

"So are you gonna go out with him?"

You take in a deep breath, half of you wishing that Quinn would shut the fuck up and half of you too interested for this conversation to stop. You have this thing inside of you that just wants to know.

Brittany just shrugs, looking smaller than ever as her eyes flicker around the entire apartment, finding everything that _isn't _you. "I don't know."

"Why not?" Quinn asks and yep, you're going to punch her. "You said he was cute and we wouldn't mind if you bought him to the reunion thing," she continues and you drop your vision to your wine glass. You still have at least half in there but you have a feeling that's going to be gone very quickly. "Right, Santana?"

You freeze at the sound of your name, and even though it looks like you weren't listening, you were and slowly lift your head. Brittany's staring right at you, and you don't dare to meet her eye, fearing that a scathing remark about the age of this guy or a comment about how Brittany sure does move on quickly, will spill straight from your lips. You don't know why you'd say that, because you know that it would make you look jealous and you're not. You just really don't like the idea of Brittany going on a date with some guy from the coffee shop because not only is it against the rules, but it was supposed to be a reunion thing and the only reunion that guy should be going on is a World War Two veterans memorial.

Plus, you're still a little ticked off that she's just thrown away what happened between you and picked up with the first guy that she saw to get over it. Apparently it didn't mean that much to her.

Not that it meant anything to you either, you just... you don't even know.

You look up to meet her eye then, and you know she and Quinn are both looking at you like you should answer soon because you've been in your thoughts for at least thirty seconds now and okay, you might be a little slow at times but you're not _that _slow. Something's definitely up, and you know Quinn's going to say something soon because her eyes are narrowing the further the seconds tick by and shit, you hate this because you don't know what to say.

But finally, you make up your mind. You and Brittany are trying to get back to friends so that's what you're going to be; a friend.

"Yeah," you say, your voice a little hoarse. "You should bring him." Your jaw clenches and you wet your lips because once again, your body's screaming at you to take the words back.

You won't.

"Exactly, Britt," Quinn picks up the conversation and looks back to the other blonde. "You should bring him because if it turns out you don't like him, we can totally just tug you away from him if he makes a move," she reasons, taking a sip of your wine.

And that's when you just stare at Brittany, your eyes challenging her because you know she's hesitating on the decision. You know she doesn't know whether to say yes and even though you have no idea whether it's because of you, you think there's a good chance it might be and so you just wait out her answer, ignoring the way your heart's thumping loudly in your chest and how the grip you have on the stem of the glass is tightening so much that you could actually break it.

After exactly forty-one seconds, you finally hear her answer.

"Yeah," Brittany says through a breath, nodding and letting her eyes meet yours. "I'll bring him."

You don't know why you instantly regret not saying something, but you don't want to really know because this is all too confusing. Before when Brittany went on dates with people, you never felt this way, and since you had that night together, apparently yore hating it. It feels like that night has broken open gates within you and now you're hyper-aware of everything Brittany does and have personal opinions and emotions about who she does it with.

You're sure that's something friends don't do.

But you don't know why you're feeling like that because you don't like her. You don't like her like that because you two are just friends. Having sex with someone has never changed your feelings about them before and you're staying adamant that it hasn't this time either. Just because you two had sex doesn't mean you're developing feelings with her, and okay, even though she was like, _incredible _in bed, you're sure that wasn't enough to make you suddenly feel something for her. That kind of shit just doesn't happen. Especially not to you.

Still though, you're irritated by your own feelings and now you can feel a headache coming on from where your brows have been furrowed for the past ten minutes and so you just shake your head, bring the glass of wine to your lips and down the amount left in it, wincing as it settles in your stomach and climb off the armchair abruptly. If staying here means thinking more and having to hear about Brittany and how much fun she's going to have with a guy who's so old that history class in school for him was probably current events, then you just want to go home.

"Where are you going?" Quinn asks and you blink, realizing you've just stood up without a word.

"I've got an early bird shift tomorrow," you lie and you hate that you don't even need to look at Brittany to see her narrow her eyes suspiciously. "So I better be going."

Quinn doesn't even really question it and just shrugs before standing. Though as you walk to the door, you hear Brittany get up and turn around, eying the way she's finishing her wine and reaching for her shoes on the floor like she's going to follow you.

"What are you doing?" You ask and Quinn stops, looking over her shoulder to Brittany.

"Are you going, too?" She pick up your conversation and you're glad because you think you sounded a little pissed off with your question.

"Yeah," Brittany says, sliding on a boot. "I'm tired and it's getting late so I thought I could go with San."

You instantly still because it's already been awkward enough and you really don't' feel like having to share a cab home with a woman you're finding yourself a little mad at. You don't know why you're mad, but you can just feel it in the pit of your stomach and you're sort of uncontrollable when you're angry so you have no idea whether you'd completely ruin your recovering friendship with her by making a stupid comment about her going on a date so soon.

"No, it's fine," you snap and stick your hand out in a 'stop' motion. "You've still got half a bottle of wine to go to finish it. I don't want to ruin the evening."

Brittany's crow creases and she tilts her head to the side. "No, San, it's fi—"

"Yeah, Brittany," Quinn chimes in with a slightly dazed smile. The wine's kicked in then. "You can stay and we can have a slumber party with just us," she suggests and you're not even bothered that you weren't invited because you just want to get out of here. "You don't have an early shift, do you?"

Pausing in her movement of sliding on her other boot, Brittany looks to Quinn, then to you, then to Quinn again and swallows. "No," she replies and Quinn grins.

"Great," she says, clapping her hands together and turning to you. "You sure you have to go?"

You nod because even though you could probably stay for another hour or two, you really don't want to have to listen about Brittany and how cute that guy is and you walk to the door opening it.

Quinn kisses you on a cheek after you say goodbye and you offer a small not-really-there smile to Brittany over Quinn's shoulder before turning and walking away.

You just want things back to when they were simple.

/

**Another long chapter, and I wasn't aware it was that long until the end but yeah, there you go :) **

**Hope you enjoyed and please leave a review if you think it was worth it. If not, thanks again!**


	5. Chapter 4

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Four]  
**Rating: **NC-17**  
****Length: **7.4k

**Notes: **Thank you so much for the feedback guys! It's amazing!

/

The next few days pass in the blink of an eye and before you know it, it's the reunion gathering.

You head on over to Quinn's and you, Quinn and Brittany all have pre-drinks before Quinn gets a text from Marley saying that they'll be at the club in five minutes. As Quinn lives a block or two away, you all look yourselves over in the mirror before you head on out and walk to the club. It's a chilly night, and you three keep close together, but your elbow keeps bumping against Brittany's and shoot her a weary smile because you don't really know how to feel about tonight.

Brittany invited that guy from the coffee shop, and you were thinking about reciting her words to her about those 'guidelines' that she so kindly pointed out to Quinn, but you're just hoping that you don't need to and this thing between Brittany and that guy will burn out like it did for Quinn and Artie. You know that's kind of mean, but you just don't like the idea of Brittany dating that guy. Not that anything's wrong with him, that you know of, but it's just she doesn't know him and he's like, old enough to be her dad. It's kind of weird.

Anyway, you all arrive at the club and your heart stops when you hear someone's ringtone and see Brittany smile down at her phone out the corner of your eye; but you're quickly whipped away from that when Quinn drags you inside the club and then you're being thrown into Sugar's arms as she hugs you and tells you she misses you. Next comes Rachel and even though she totally bugged the crap out of you when you two had to work together, she's not that bad. You don't actually know why you don't see her more because she goes to NYADA and lives in New York, along with Kurt. Maybe you should text her some time. Or get Quinn to do it. They were always a little closer.

Everyone greets you one by one, and you're so caught up in making sure you're not staring at Brittany that you don't realize Brittany's just walked in and is stepping up to the booth you're apparently in, with a man by her side. A man who you instantly scowl at.

"Hey, Britt!" Sugar yells, bouncing over to Brittany and wrapping her up in an embrace. "You came!" She says and then her eyes slide to the guy standing by Brittany's side. "And you're hot. Who are you?"

The man chuckles and gives a dazzling smile, and it just makes you dislike him even more because damn, he's actually really good-looking. But Brittany steps up, and all the group turn their attention her as she gestures to the guy by her side.

"This is Carl," she says and you repeat the name beneath your breath, hating how it rolls off your tongue. Yep, you don't like him. "Carl, this everyone," she says and individually tells him everyone's names, going around from Rachel, Sugar, Kurt, Tina, Mike, Sam, Jake, Marley and Quinn. "And that's Santana," she finishes and Carl smiles at you, nodding but you just stare with a blank expression.

"Awesome!" Sugar screams and she bounces in her spot, looking between everyone like she can't believe she's hanging out with you lot. Your lips almost twitch into a smile in response; you've always liked her. "So let's get some shots in!"

Everyone simultaneously agrees, but then you hear Mike clear his throat and snap your attention to him. His arm's wrapped around Tina's shoulder, and you totally knew they were a thing because when they met the first year you were at the coffee shop, it's like they couldn't take their eyes off each other. Apparently having the same last name—or a similar one, anyway—was hilarious and that's how they started talking. They're just one of those couples that you knew were going to end up together and you feel happy for them.

"Actually, Tina can't have any alcohol," Mike says and you furrow your brow in confusion as you look to Tina.

"Why?" You ask, knowing everyone's curious.

Mike smiles down at Tina from where she sits on the booth and squeezes her shoulder. She nods in confirmation and you feel like you're missing out on something here. Although no-one else knows so you're all in the same boat.

"Tina's pregnant," Mike finally announces and everyone smiles widely and begins congratulating her. Even fucking _Carl _says congratulations and Tina, being polite, thanks him, but you just hate him. He's so obviously trying to suck up to Brittany's friends to try to impress her, and it's so fucking obvious what he's doing that it's not even charming. You know Brittany and you know that _that _isn't the way to impress or charm her. She's just going to think he's trying to hard.

And after Carl finishes chatting with Tina, you feel him look at you and seeing as you're scowling, you just know that you're his next intended target. Now, there's no way in freaking _hell _that you're going to let some guy try to talk to you just because he wants to get into Brittany's pants, and so when he rises from his seat next to Tina and heads on over to you with a warm smile in lieu of a greeting.

But you just scoff, ignore the face Brittany gives you and slide out the booth before heading to the bar.

Fucking Carl.

/

The night goes on and apparently Sugar pulled some strings with the bar manager and managed to get you guys into the VIP area. You're not sure how, but you're not going to ask any questions because you're getting free drinks from all the people downstairs who want to come up, and you know if you really wanted to—and weren't so caught up in your own thoughts and confused feelings—you could totally go home with one of them.

But anyway, you're standing here on the balcony edge of the VIP room—it's upstairs—looking down at the dance floor like you have been for the past fifteen minutes. You've tried to convince yourself that you're not staring at Carl and Brittany who just happen to be in your direct line of sight, but you know that that's not true. It's actually getting really annoying because you don't _want _to look at them, especially because Carl's hands are on Brittany's hips and there's like, _zero _space between their bodies; yet your eyes keep drifting back like gravity. You're just being pulled back to them whenever you try to look away.

And you're so determined and so concentrated on staring somewhere else for more than ten seconds that you don't even notice Quinn sidling up beside you, leaning against the bar and looking down on the dance floor with you until she speaks.

"Carl's pretty good-looking, isn't he?" She randomly comments and your eyes slide to the right, but your head doesn't turn. You don't want to seem like you're too interested.

"Guess so," you reply with a shrug, lifting your cocktail to your lips and taking a sip. "If you're into that kind of thing."

Quinn eyes you for a long moment. "That kind of thing being incredibly attractive and wealthy doctors?"

You tense instantly. Shit. You didn't know he was a doctor. Or wealthy for that matter. That just makes everything ten times worse because now not only is he physically attractive, but so is his life. He makes you look like something he stepped on in the street. Not that you care, or that you're comparing yourself to him because you don't care if he's better than you. Why would you?

"Okay," Quinn says through a hard exhale, turning to lean her side against the balcony railing. "What's going on?"

You turn to look at her. "What?"

"You and Brittany," she says and you feel your lungs momentarily stop working. "You two have been awkward all week with each other and now you're even more awkward that Carl's here. What's going on?"

You shake your head because you don't know what else to do. You don't know how to explain that you and Brittany have been awkward without blurting out that you two slept together. You know that there's probably a good lie you could tell, but you crack under pressure and you can feel it weighing down on you; but you won't let it happen.

So you just shrug, and let your eyes fall back to the dance floor; but not to Brittany and Carl.

(You can see them out the corner of your eye so you know they're not making out.)

"Are you jealous?"

The question catches you so off guard that you choke on the breath you take. You whip your head around, eyes wide and yeah, okay, that reaction probably wasn't the best considering you're trying to play it cool but you can't believe Quinn just asked you that. You know she's upfront and straight to the point about most things but _jheeze_, if that was a sensitive subject then this would totally _no_t be the way to approach it.

"What?" You scoff and decide to tone it down a little, nonchalantly turning back to rest on the railing again, eyes going out to the dance floor. "Am I jealous of Grandpa over there? Hell no. He's going to break a hip soon."

Quinn's silent for a long moment but you can feel her staring at you from your left. Sometimes you really do wish she'd just spit whatever she has to say. "I _actually_ meant are you jealous because you don't have anyone here."

You freeze. Shit. You thought she meant something else. Now you need to come up with something quickly.

"Uh, no," you try. You're really the smoothest cat around. "No, I'm not. I could hook up with someone here anytime," you wave your hand around the dance floor to emphasize your words. "In fact, I've got my eye on someone already."

It's not exactly the truth, but considering you've had your eye on Brittany for the past eighteen minutes, you're not exactly lying either.

"Then why did you jump to Carl?" Quinn asks, her voice dipping with suspicion. The grip you have on your glass tightens because you don't know how to get out of this. Whenever you're cornered, Brittany's usually there, helping you out and picking up on the things you can't but she's not here. She's down there with fucking _Carl. _Have you mentioned you hate that guy?"Wait, why would you be jealous of Carl... _Holy shit_," Quinn's eyes widen and you jerk your head around, swallowing. "Are you jealous of Carl!?" She screeches, her eyes flitting down to the dance floor to said man.

And as much as you'd like to scream HELL NO and make sure she didn't think that with aggression, you know that she'd just get more suspicious at that and so you force yourself to be cool as you wave her off with your hand, like you really don't care. "Quit tripping," you scoff. "I'm not jealous of him."

"Bullshit," Quinn calls and you roll your eyes, looking to her.

"You've clearly already drunk too much. I'm not jealous of Carl."

Quinn narrows her eyes and you know she will stand here and question you for hours if you don't leave, so with the silence that spans between you, you bring your drink to your lips and tip the rest of it back before looking down to her glass.

"Do you need another drink? I'm going to get one."

She shakes her head, not even bothering with words as she closely examines you with narrowed eyes but you just don't have time for this. You don't want Quinn to start figuring you and Brittany out before you even figure out what the hell you're feeling. You don't want someone else to know before you do because that'll force your opinion and you'll just automatically assume whatever Quinn does; and you're just not down for that. You want to figure it out for yourself. No matter how hard that might be.

You head down the stairs and smile in thanks as the weird VIP area guard lets you through the velvet rope before pushing through the crowd. Everyone's dancing and you're not nearly drunk enough to dance as well, so you just edge your way through the people until you get to the bar. It's pretty crowded, and you know if you tried to find Sugar she could just click her fingers and get the waiter over for upstairs, but she's down here dancing and you have no idea where she is; plus you don't feel like worming your way through the crowd again and run the risk of bumping into Brittany and Carl. You don't know how you'd react.

So you just stand there, idly tapping your glass and wishing that no-one comes over and hits on you because you're not in the mood for that either, but you suppose if Quinn's watching you then hitting on someone would totally help you convince her that you're not jealous of Carl. Still though, you don't really feel like it and you know that's not like you at all because usually you only come out to clubs to get laid, but it's not like you're going to tell anyone that so they can just assume you don't think there's anyone good enough for you here.

Though as you stand there, waiting for someone to walk away from the bar so you can take their place, you hear a familiar giggle and tense. You don't bother looking around, hoping that Brittany won't see you there, but moments later, someone stumbles into you and of course, because you were _trying _to avoid Brittany and Carl, they would just _happen_ to stumble into you. _Of course_ it was them because it couldn't have possibly been some drunken woman who just fell over, nor could've it been some douche thinking it was a good way to strike up a conversation. Of fucking course it _had _to be Brittany and Carl because in _all _of the people who are here at this fucking club, _they _had to stumble into _you._

Just fucking brilliant.

"Oh," Brittany says, her lips popping open as you turn around, eying them and revealing that it was you they bumped into you. "Sorry, San, I didn't see you there."

Your jaw clenches at her words because she hasn't been watching you like you've been watching her and you feel a twinge of something in your stomach at the thought. But then it increases as your eyes drift down to Brittany's hand, hidden behind Carl's back and as you follow his arm, you realize his is going to the same place, which can only mean one thing: they're holding hands.

_How freaking charming._

"Just watch where you're going next time," you spit and barge through the crowd at the bar to slam your glass down before storming off to the bathroom.

(You don't see how Brittany jerks her head back and drops Carl's hand.)

/

You stand in front of the mirror, panting hard as you stare at yourself.

You don't know why you're acting like a jealous girlfriend. You're not jealous, and you're certainly not Brittany's fucking girlfriend. You two just slept together, and sex has never meant and will never mean dating to you. It's just a meaningless act and you like sex. It's like a hobby to you, like exercise but you enjoy it more.

Hell, you don't know one person who doesn't like having sex and you've never had sex with someone and developed feelings for them because of it. Either you've just had sex with girls with no feelings and preferably, no eye contact, or you've been dating girls and had feelings for them previously. But you've never developed feelings _because _of sex. That's just ridiculous.

And it's definitely not the case here.

Your thoughts are swiftly interrupted as someone comes through the bathroom door, and you stand up, lift your chin and take a deep breath because you don't want to be all angry and jealous and crap if someone is in here peeing; so you go to leave. But as you stare at yourself in the mirror, your eyes find Brittany leaning against the wall behind you, her eyes narrowed as they meet yours through the mirror, her arms folded over her chest and lips pinched up at the side.

She doesn't look angry, nor does she look upset, she just looks... confused, and you gulp because yeah, you're with her on that one.

And you don't know what to say. You don't know how to explain why you just snapped at her and so you drop your eyes and slowly turn around, tilting your head to the side. You don't say anything, and she doesn't say anything either, and you end up just standing and staring into each others eyes like you're having a conversation with them. And even though you're not speaking, and even though she's silent, you can tell she's asking you a million questions.

The strangest thing is, is that she isn't angry for what you're hiding something — whatever that may be. She looks like she understands your confusion because she feels it herself and your anger disappears, turning into an odd warmth in the center of your chest. You don't know how she can do this with you; how one moment you're pissed at her and the next, you're fighting a smile just because she understands you. You kind of really fucking hate it.

(Except you don't.)

You breathe hard, wondering whether you should say anything but then her expression changes and she lifts her head, and the next thing you know, she's coming toward you and you inhale deeply as she grabs both your cheeks and pulls you into a kiss. You moan against her lips, your hands shooting to her hips and your mind completely blanks of any thoughts beside the one of how good her body feels pressed up against yours.

Her tongue dips into your mouth and your hips press forward, heat spreading across your skin as arousal curdles within. You know you want her, and her hands slide into your hair, tightening against the roots and you know she wants you, too. You don't know why either of you tried to fight it, and even though there's a large possibility of an awkward encounter after this happens, neither of you care. You just want her, and she wants you back.

So with the grip you have on her hips, you walk her backwards and into a toilet stall. It's not the classiest of places but you just need her, and you need her now. You can already feel yourself aching as you press against the tight confinement briefs beneath your skin-tight jeans, but you don't care. You're too entranced by the way her tongue strokes against yours and how it feels to have her kissing you again, to have her body against yours and to have that heated want surge between you.

It's incredible, and you never knew you could have such amazing chemistry with someone. It's just sizzling in the air, electric beneath your palms and hot to the touch.

It's undeniable.

Brittany breaks the kiss, panting hard against your mouth as your foreheads come together and you open your eyes to find deep blue staring straight back. She looks so hot, and your hands slide down and around to her ass, flexing against the fabric. Her eyes flutter at the movement and you bite your lip, an animalistic need burning with you as her hands drop from your hair and make a path down your chest, fingers bumping against the button of your jeans. You suck in a shaky breath, your heart loud beating hard and heavy against your ribcage but this time, you're not nervous. You have no need to be.

You two are going to do this._ Again_.

Your arm stretches out, flicking the lock on the door and she smirks at you as she pops open the button to your jeans, clearly taking the action as a yes to what you both want. You thought if anything she'd have hesitations about this, but clearly not and her hand goes between your jeans and boxers, grabbing on to the bulge forming there. Your hips rut into the touch, your head flinging back and hitting the back of the stall but you really don't mind; you're too turned on to care about anything but Brittany and what she's doing to you.

So you pick your head up once more and grab her hand, swiftly taking it out from your boxers as you press your lips back to hers. You know she's confused, but when you reach down to the hem of her dress and slip your fingers against the soft skin of her thigh, beneath the fabric, she gets it. She smiles against your mouth, her arms going around your neck and you roll up her dress until it's above her hips, settled around her stomach.

And when your hand cups her core, the breath's ripped straight from your chest and you jerk your head back because she's _so _wet. Wetter than you've ever known and you don't know how you didn't notice that when you first had sex; she's so ready for you and you can't even begin to explain how hot that is, instead choosing to press your fingers up until she groans, her head falling back against the wall.

You move your fingers, her hips rocking into the touch and you just fucking love that you're teasing her. She's groaning into your ear, her fingers threading through your hair and nails scratching at your scalp as you lower your head, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the slope of her neck. You've never known something so... _sexy _and you graze your teeth over her skin at the same time your press fingers harder against the lace of her underwear, the tips of them dipping inside her slightly. Her entire body jerks, but you're there, steadying her and trying to gain your own friction as you push your hips into the back of your hand, and she really is the hottest thing you've ever known.

But soon enough you can't hold back anymore. You love teasing her, doing this—in fact it might be one of your favorite things to do now, even if you've only just done it—but you need to get off. The need to do so is hitting you hard in the gut and you know she feels it, too; but it's not just the spontaneous need to get off with anyone, it's the need to get off with _her. _

She's making you feel things you've never felt and you retract your hand, smiling smugly at the whimper that escapes her lips as you put a little space between your bodies, but don't drop your hands.

Her eyebrows scrunch together in confusion as she looks you in the eye, but you just kiss her softly, a little _too _softly, before you slide your hands around to her hips and hook your fingers into the sides of her panties. Blue eyes widen a little at the gesture, but then you begin slowly pulling them down and her entire body rolls into yours as she slides her hands down to wrap around the nape of your neck, smirking against your mouth as she kisses you.

It's so hot, and you can already feel the pressure building in your stomach simply caused by Brittany being Brittany, but you don't let yourself get distracted by that thought as you let go of her panties, trusting her to kick them off the rest of the way.

Then it's your turn, and you tug your own jeans down to your knees, not being able to wait any longer because you just need to be inside her. You need to have that connection with her and you're desperately wishing you had more time to do this again but her nails are clawing at the skin of your neck and she's taking your bottom lip between her teeth and letting her tongue swipe over it when it snaps back into place and _shit, _you're so ready for this.

Your hands go to your boxers, ready to pull them down but then Brittany's hands shoot down and wrap around your wrists, stopping you and you pull your lips back, staring into her eyes. She shakes her head, bites on her own lip and then tugs one of your hands to her most intimate part, a scorch covering your whole body as you run your finger through her folds, feeling the slickness beneath the touch.

She gasps, shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath before her hands go to your boxers and push them down; and then you're both bare and you're stroking through her, the pad of your finger circling her clit and her hands grabbing at your biceps as pleasure seeps through her, contorting her expression.

Your free hand goes to your erection, wrapping around the base and squeezing and she snakes her arms around your neck, walking herself back half a step until she hits the wall. She tugs you closer by the lapels of your blazer, your mouths coming together again and you move your hips forward, your member straining between you. Brittany whimpers, biting down on your bottom lip and you don't even hesitate before removing the hand you were touching her with to grab at her thigh, urging it up to wrap around your waist so you're even closer, pressed between her thighs.

"_San_..." she whimpers, and you give up with her mouth as she chokes out your name, instead choosing to nip at her jaw and kiss down her neck.

You bite down lightly on her collarbone, then sweep your tongue across it at the same time you tilt your hips and run the tip of your cock through her folds, marveling at the wetness on hot skin. It feels so fucking good and a low rumble creeps up your throat as you dip lower, still squeezing the base of your erection to stop yourself from coming at the sight of Brittany trembling before you.

You've never seen anything as sexy as her, and with that thought, you push the head inside, the muscles contracting and flexing at the intrusion. This time it's you to whimper and you close your eyes at the lack of barrier between you, the tightness now encompassing you.

But then there are hands urging your head up by your cheeks and lips covering yours, and Brittany's sliding her tongue into your mouth and kissing you deeply before she pulls back, staring you deep in the eye and nodding; and you take that as a sign to go further and push further into her completely, an incredible wet suction claiming your throbbing member. You both groan, Brittany throwing her head back and you grunt as you bottom out inside of her, your hand on her thigh squeezing to ensure she's okay.

You two have had sex before, but you can feel you're still a tight fit for her by the way she stretches to accommodate your thickness. Still, after a few seconds of keeping still, she moans in response as you shift a little, and she tilts her head back down to you, urging you to move. You wet you lips as you pull out, only leaving the tip in before you thrust back in.

Her eyes flutter shut, her hands still on your cheeks and you bring your free hand to her hip to hold her as you begin pushing into her slowly. Her leg wraps around you, urging you deeper and you smother a groan by burying your face into the crook of your neck and _holy crap, _you've never felt like this when having sex with someone. It's like you're connecting with her on all levels; not just physically but emotionally.

Tiny whimpers escape Brittany and you spur her on, picking up the pace a little, and soon enough the wall of the stall is creaking beneath your weight as you thrust into her, your lips latching on to the skin of her neck and sucking.

She's so tight and warm around you, and you know this isn't going to last long at all, not only because you're about a minute from coming but because you're in a freaking club and you only gone to get a drink and there's only so long a queue can be. So you quit messing around and move faster inside Brittany, enjoying the whimpers that turn into throat, satisfied moans as you kiss up her neck and jaw and press your forehead against hers, your eyes meeting and heavy, rapid breaths mixing between your lips.

The hand you have on her thigh urges her wider, and you can feel her other leg trembling where it supports her and decide to take this matter into your own hands, using the stall wall as leverage as you grab her thigh and let her wrap both legs around your waist. This gives you more depth and her arms snake around your neck, pulling your faces closer together as you pound into her, your body rolling to make sure you cause friction against her clit.

You've only done this once before, but you know how to make her come exactly the way she wants it and you switch from swift, short thrust to long, drawn out ones until you're tapping a spot deep inside her once, twice, three times and then she's coming hard. Her orgasm punches through her, your name pouring from her lips through a guttural moan and she shrieks as her body quivers around you, the muscles clenching around your member until you know you're being pushed over the edge.

So swiftly and carefully, you lower her to her feet and pull out of her, letting your cock rest against her thigh as you let yourself go, your lips finding hers. You feel yourself coming and groan, your eyes squeezing shut as you pour everything you have on to her thigh. You can feel Brittany still riding the shock waves of her orgasm, and how her hips are still rolling and undulating against you and kiss her harder, pulling away when you're gasping for breath.

Brittany collapses against you then with a groan, her body draping over yours and you chuckle as you wrap your arms around her waist, burying your face into the crook of her neck. She mirrors the noise and her arms come around your neck as you both try to catch your breath, laughing weakly together.

You don't really know why you're laughing, or why you're even hugging each other for that reason, considering your pants and boxers are around your ankles, but hey, you're not going to complain; you just had some pretty fucking amazing sex and you're not feeling awkward like you did last time.

You're good.

/

After a few minutes of just holding each other, you pull back and Brittany does too. Your eyes meet and instead of feeling that cold shock, you feel a strange warmth within you and start smiling. You're not sure of why you're doing this either, but Brittany smiles back and bashfully ducks her head as you bend down to pull up your trousers. She reaches for some toilet roll to wipe the _stuff _off her thigh and you straighten up, doing back up the button and offer her an apologetic smile, but she just shakes her head and grins. She doesn't mind.

You then bend down and pick up her panties, lifting each of her ankles so she steps into them, and then you slide them up her legs, your eyes tracing the length of them as your fingers purposely skim up the smooth skin. She shudders, and you rise, wetting your lips when you're within her eye line once more.

"That was interesting," Brittany whispers, breaking the silence and you duck your head, scratching your brow to hide the smile on your face.

"Yeah," you agree and realize how amazing it is to _not _feel awkward. "It was..." you trail off and glance up to meet her eyes again, letting her silently finish your sentence.

And she does because she smiles, bites her lip and nods. "Yeah, it was," she repeats and you feel the blood rush to your face.

Though you don't look away and instead step closer, both hands going to her hips as her hands come up to your collar bones. You take in an unsteady breath and wet your lips because there's nothing more than you want right now to kiss her. But you don't know why, because after the last time you two had sex, you were freaking out and running out the door the second you remembered what happened, but that's nothing like what you feel right now. You just want to stay here with her—preferably not in a stall in the ladies room—but you'll take what you can get at the minute.

Although as you stand there and stare into her eyes, you realize that you two can't stay here for as long as you want. There are people waiting for you, after all, and you've already been gone longer than you should've done. And it seems both of you share the same thoughts because she chews on her lip, a sadness etching across her face as she twirls the strands of your hair between her fingers.

"We need to get back out there," you say and nothing in your tone conveys that you want to do what you say.

Brittany offers a small nod, the side of her lips pinching up with sadness as her eyes drop to your lips. "I know," she sighs.

And you just can't take it anymore. You can't take the small tone and so you bump your nose against hers, urging her face up before shifting down, pausing a hairbreadth away from her lips to spare one last glance into her eyes before you kiss her. It's soft, and so gentle, and you suck Brittany's bottom lip between your own, as her hands twist around the strands of your hair, pulling you deeper into the kiss.

Your tongue traces the seam of her lips, and she smiles against your mouth before parting her lips and letting your tongue slide into her mouth, curling against the back of her teeth before you flick your tongue against the roof of her mouth. It's warm and wet, and so delicious and she makes a small whimpering noise when you do that, that you can't help but do it again, just to treasure the way that sound makes your whole body tingle and come alive.

She just tastes so sweet and you hear her moan as your arms wrap fully around her waist, pulling her so closer that there's not an inch of space between you. It makes your heart skip a beat, your heart flutter and you trace the insides of Brittany's mouth, taking time to feel around the curves and points of Brittany's teeth before you pull your tongue back into her mouth and steal another kiss or two before completely parting from her.

Then you're breathing into her, your eyes still shut and your faces impossibly close, and you just inhale her scent, feeling her chest rise and fall against yours and how her hands slowly untangle from your hair and fall down to cup the sides of your neck, her thumbs stroking over the patch of skin behind your ears.

"Okay," you whisper hoarsely, exhaling against Brittany's mouth. "We need to go."

Brittany nods against your head but leans in to take one last kiss before you two completely step apart, your body instantly stinging from the lack of warmth pressed against you. You want to just press back up against her again, bring your mouths together and hold her in your arms for the rest of your night, but you can't and so to resist further urges, you unlock the door and step out into the bathroom, looking toward the mirror to take in your appearance.

And that's when you notice that the brightness is back; the one you noticed the morning after you and Brittany first slept together. Your eyes are brighter, your skin glowing and you smile to yourself because now you know what makes you look like that: Brittany. It's then that she steps out behind you, her eyes meeting yours through the mirror and it's that damn smile that she gives you that makes your knees go weak. God. How didn't you notice that she had that effect on you before?

"Do you wanna go first?" She asks, gesturing to the door.

You swallow, wet your lips and feel something grip in your chest because you don't want to leave the bathroom in case it breaks the spell you seem to be under. Still though, you shake your head. "No, you can go first."

Brittany nods, moves toward the door but the second her hand's on the handle, you can't help but call her name. "Britt?"

She turns around, eyes flitting to you and you take a deep breath, unsure of how to phrase this. You don't want to seem like an ass, and you don't want to lead her on, and you don't know why what just happened, happened, or what it means, but you do know that you don't want her to go back out there and go back to Carl. You don't want her to go back out there and dance with Carl, and let Carl run his hands over her body. You don't want her to be interested in him, and kiss him good night, even if you're not sure if you're interested in her or doing that yourself. The image just makes you feel a little sick and so you don't want her to do it.

Even if that is completely unfair of you to ask.

"I know this isn't fair to ask of you," you start and clench your hands in front of your stomach as your body twists to face her. You're really freaking nervous. "But are you..." you pause, swallow thickly and suck in your lips before continuing. "Are going back out there to... to Carl?"

Brittany doesn't answer you, but instead marches straight up to you, grabs your face between her hands much like she did earlier in this same bathroom, and kisses you hard. You stumble back a little, but kick yourself into action and kiss back for long moments before she pulls away, staring you deep in the eye and panting a little.

"I am but not in the same way as before," she whispers and even though you're a little confused about what that means, you think you understand.

"Okay," you croak out and she gives you a small smile before pressing one last kiss to your lips and walks out the bathroom, the door closing shut behind her.

You wait two minutes before following her.

/

When you get out the bathroom, your eyes immediately search for her but she's nowhere to be found.

It makes you feel a little uneasy because you can't see Carl either, but you know she said she wouldn't go back to him like she did before, and so you're assuming that she isn't going back to him with the intention of kissing him or taking him home. Well, you hope that anyway.

You look up to the VIP balcony, and note that Quinn's no longer there and you do panic for a split second, thinking that she might have gone to look for you but then you see a blonde head of hair bobbing up and down and figure she's sitting down now. So you head toward the stairs, straightening out your blazer, making sure your jeans haven't ridden or got... _something _on them and sort out your sex hair before you begin climbing them.

When you get up there, you spot Jake, Marley, Quinn and Sugar sitting around the booth and walk over, taking a seat beside Quinn. She looks at you a little funny, and you freak out internally because you were sure there's nothing on you or anything different about you that gives it away, but you just play it cool, lifting a brow in her direction.

"What?" You ask after a long moment.

Quinn narrows her eyes and they dart down to your hands on your lap before coming back up. "Where's your drink?"

Shit. You forgot you were supposed to be getting a drink. "Uh, the queue was really long," you reply, nodding as if you're agreeing with your own lie.

"So you stood there for half an hour and ended up coming back with nothing?"

You freeze, stare at your friend, trying to figure out what to say but it's at that moment that Brittany comes up the stairs, flashes a smile your way and comes to sit beside Sugar, opposite where you're sitting. You notice she's alone and then you hear Sugar ask where Carl is, but Brittany just shrugs, turns her attention to Sugar and says a little louder than necessary that she wasn't really into him and so she told him and he left.

You feel yourself smiling before you know it, and it's only when you force yourself to look away from Brittany that you find Quinn staring at you, still waiting for an answer.

So you decide to tell her a version of the truth. "Something distracted me and I forgot," you say with a shrug, and you know your words hold more meaning than you're leading on.

Quinn eyes you for a second but buys it and turns away.

You just meet Brittany's eye once more and grin.

Yep, you were definitely distracted.

/


	6. Chapter 5

**Title:** Never Knew I Needed [Part Five]  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Length:** 8.6k

**Notes:** Your response to this is incredible, and I love and read each one of your reviews, so thank you. And now to answer a few questions:  
- I'm not entirely sure how long this will be but I have a few things I want to write and so I'm going to go with the flow and see what happens.  
- There was one reviewer who said that they thought this wasn't a G!P fic and that I shouldn't keep changing it between chapters, though I can tell you it is most definitely a G!P fic, and I'm not changing it _at all _so don't know what you're talking about.  
- Someone also said they thought I was Ryan Murphy before I made Brittana sweet and so to you, I am officially offended. (But I guess you said I'm not now so I'm not really _that _offended.)  
- And finally, I can assure you Brittany didn't get pregnant from the bathroom sex. I know 'pulling out' isn't the best type of contraception, but it is 96% effect (yes, I researched that) and Brittana aren't in that 4% of unluckiness (if that's a word.)

/

You two have shifts at work together and you don't talk about the night at the club again.

It's not in the awkward not talking way that it was after the first time you had sex, it's just you're not talking about it because you don't know what it means and Brittany has brought it up. You're not going to if she isn't because you don't know what it means, and you're assuming that she doesn't either considering you two haven't talked about it.

But you're still getting along, and you still steal shy glances at her when you think she's not looking and still smile at the memory of taking Brittany up against the side of a toilet stall in a nightclub, although that does make you two look super trashy, but you smile because it was just... the sex was hot and intense, but the aftermath of it was... _sweet. _That's the only way you can think of to describe it.

You two didn't exactly talked much but you kissed and laughed together at how exhausted you both were after your incredible orgasms. You were both sad that you had to leave and it was clear that neither of you wanted to, and just wanted to stay together. You were comfortable and it wasn't awkward and even though you were totally unfair and asked Brittany not to go back to her date after what happened, she kissed you and told you she wouldn't.

Even now, you're not sure what that meant, but you know that she was willing to do it and you wanted her to do it, so that's something.

Anyway, you two act like there was never any awkwardness between you at all and it's great. You feel like you can breathe easy and you get these tiny little flutterings in your stomach whenever Brittany meets your eye and also Quinn isn't bugging you about how weird you and Brittany are acting anymore because you're not. It's just like it was, before you two had sex, except you two have totally had sex. Twice. And both times were _amazing._ It's like your friendship was never damaged, despite the fact that you've memorized what it feels like to move inside her and know exactly what color her eyes go when she's aroused or close to an orgasm. And it's brilliant.

It's exactly what you wanted, but with the bonuses of the sex.

Although you two haven't had sex since the club, and you haven't even talked about future plans of having sex again so you're not quite sure where this leads you. Maybe you two just needed to get it out your system, who knows, maybe it _had _been a long time coming and those two times did exactly that; so it means that you two can go back to being best friends.

(Even if you'd really fucking like to sleep with her again.)

(And not just because it's sex, but because it's sex with _Brittany._)

"San?"

You blink, lifting your head and letting your eyes focus back on reality; which is Brittany and Quinn sitting in your living room, Brittany with a smirk and Quinn with a narrowed, quizzical expression.

"Huh?" You asked, a little dazed. You don't know how long you were out or what they were talking about.

Brittany smirks at you, and you feel blood rush to your face. Does she know you were thinking about her? "Quinn was just saying how the old coffee shop crew were thinking about going out for dinner tonight," she elaborates for your sake and damn, you're grateful. You have no doubt Quinn would've asked why you were so distracted otherwise. "And if we wanted to go."

"When?"

You're still a little out of it, and whilst Brittany's smiling at you like you're the most adorable thing in the world, Quinn's eyes are narrowing further and you know she's getting really suspicious.

"Tonight," Brittany says, shifting in the arm-chair opposite you to tuck her legs beneath her. "We're going to Breadstix."

You nod, exhaling as you bring your cup of coffee to your lips, never breaking eye contact with her. "Sounds good. I'm game."

As soon as you hide the smirk behind the rim of your mug, you realize that you and Brittany aren't the only two people in the room and your eyes suddenly grow wide. You drop your expression and eyes, sip your coffee and hum as the warmth settles low in your stomach, hoping that Quinn isn't going to say anything to you because you're not sure what she'd ask you, nor what you'd answer.

Though luckily, it's at the moment where your eyes flicker to Quinn to see if she's going to say anything that Beth comes bouncing in from the kitchen, holding a spatula in one hand and wearing a pot over her head, shouting, "En garde!"

You all burst into laughter, you throwing your head back at the sight, Brittany curling over the arm of the sofa and Quinn snorting loudly, and Beth's face drops, her brows furrowing and lip pouting. Quinn just stops laughing, shoots you and Brittany a glare, even though there's laughter in her eyes, and gets up from the sofa before heading on over to her daughter, picking her up and hitching her against her hip.

"What are you doing?" Quinn coos, poking her finger against the pot on her daughter's head. "And how do you know French?"

"Modern Family," Beth shrugs and your eyebrows shoot up.

"Isn't that a bit of a strange show for a _six _year old to be watching, Fabray?"

Quinn nods in agreement, looking at her daughter and stroking the back of her fingers over Beth's cheek lovingly. "Baby, where did you watch that?"

"Daddy had it on TV," Beth replies absently, now focusing on the spatula where she's stuck a butterfly sticker on the back of it. "Look, Sanny!" She yells and turns it around. "I made it pretty!"

You chuckle and Quinn's eyes slide to you, her lips pulling into an apologetic smile because you now need to buy a new spatula. There's no way in hell Beth's going to give that up now she's marked it with her territorial sticker. She actually does that a lot, although you are sure sometimes Quinn tells her where to put the stickers because your favorite lip gloss went a few months ago and Quinn just happened to be wearing and bitched out at you when you bought the last tube in the store.

"You did, kiddo," you tell Beth and take another sip of your coffee. "You can keep that now."

"Thanks, Sanny!" Beth chirps and you giggle, finding Brittany's eyes on you turn to look at her.

She mouths, "you're cute" over and you find yourself blushing so hard you actually choke as you swallow the coffee. Damn it.

"Dying, Lopez?" Quinn comments and you roll your eyes, resisting the urge to flip her the bird because there's a child in the room.

"Unfortunately for you, no," you retort and stand, setting your mug down on the coffee table before you clap your hands. "Now I gotta go to work so you all have to go."

Quinn rolls her eyes in a typical you fashion but moves to the door, grabbing Beth's coat from the rack and turning to Brittany as she rises from the armchair and heads towards you. You freeze instantly, wondering what she's going to do but she just walks past you, throwing you the subtlest of smirks so Quinn won't see. You don't twist back around to face them, fearing you're blushing and instead cough before playing it cool and picking up the empty mugs from the coffee table whilst your friends put on their coats.

You quickly skip into the kitchen and drop them carefully in the sink before returning back to the living room to find your friends ready and dressed to leave. You smile at them as you walk on over and open the door, and Quinn examines you for a moment for a reason you don't know.

"What?" You ask, a little self-conscious.

Quinn narrows her eyes a little before she hikes Beth further up her hip. "Nothing," she grunts. "So you'll come tonight?" You nod. "Great, see you later," she continues and kisses you on the cheek before walking out and stopping outside your apartment door.

Then it's Brittany's turn and you gulp a little, making sure to keep it subtle as you know there's another pair of eyes watching you. Brittany gives you a soft smile and leans in, her lips hovering by your ear.

"See you later," she whispers, her voice lowering an octave or two and your fingers tighten around the edge of the door as she pushes her lips to your cheek, lingering for a little longer than necessary before coming back and skipping out the door with a grin and a wink that only you see.

You just clear your throat and step into the doorway. "Bye guys," you say and Beth waves at you over Quinn's shoulder as they walk away toward the elevator and disappear inside a few seconds later.

Then you shut the door and lean back against it, slamming your head against the wood.

How can Brittany whispering in your ear make you need a cold shower?

/

"So how many months are you?"

Tina finishes her mouthful and Mike's face lights up at the question. You can't help but smile because really, you may have only known Mike for a year or two, but you just know he's going to be the best dad. He's just such a kind, gentle soul, and you'd never admit it, but if you were into men you'd totally try and get with him. He's just incredible and _damn, _you may be gay but that man has some freaking _abs _on him. Plus, you know, he can dance like a dream and you find that _very _attractive.

Your eyes flit to Brittany at the thought, your mind going back to the many dance classes you've seen her in. Now she can fucking move.

She glances back to you instantly, almost as if she's sensing your eyes on her and you share a little smile. You two have shared shy glances for the entire forty-five minutes that you've been here, and even though you're seated across the table from each other and you haven't actually had a conversation yourself because you're a little too far away, you don't really mind. Her foot's been running up your calf for the past half hour so you know she's thinking about you somewhere in that beautiful head of hers.

"We're at just over three and a half months," Tina replies, bringing you back to the conversation.

"We wanted to make sure it was definite before we told anyone," Mike cuts in, wrapping his arm around Tina's shoulder and pressing a kiss to her head. She just smiles at him lovingly.

"You know, I never got why couples say 'we' when talking about pregnancy," Sugar chimes in absently, pushing her food around her plate and your eyes snap to her because actually, yeah you've never really thought about that either.

And you're about to say how even though most of the time she comes out with cryptic things that do make sense (most of the time,) you feel Brittany's foot skimming up your shin and over your knee. You freeze instantly, the words stopping in your throat and your eyes widening just that little bit, but you don't turn to look at her because you know how obvious that'd be. Instead you gulp it down, clear your throat and listen to the conversation, not trusting yourself to speak because you're getting turned on now and that's just so _not _cool.

"I agree, Sugar," Sam says, bobbing his head strongly. "You got a point there. It's not like the dude's pregnant, too."

Everyone laughs a little and you force yourself to join in to look like you're in the conversation, but you're focused on the foot skimming over your knee and along the inside of your thigh. You can't help that you're widening your legs like you're offering yourself, and you really want to shoot Brittany a look to wipe that smirk off her face but you can't. Not only because you're kind of enjoying the light teasing in a fucked up way, but because you know if you look to Brittany with a sharp look, she's going to giggle and you're going to blush and Quinn's going to crack at some point and you don't want it to be now.

Not in front of everyone.

You still don't know what anything means.

"Well if Mike was a seahorse then he could totally say it," Sugar says and everyone looks at with this slight belief.

You're sure you wouldn't be able to believe she was talking about this if it wasn't for Brittany's foot now skimming dangerously high on your thigh. Damn, she knows hot to get you all fired up and now you're reaching for the collar of your shirt and subtly peeling it away from the hot skin of your neck.

You're _literally _getting hot under the collar because of what she's doing to you.

"Sometimes I wonder where your thoughts come from Sugar," Quinn comments.

And everyone chuckles a little, distracted by the conversation so you take this moment to flit your eyes to Brittany and give her a _stop it _glare. She's just smirking back at you, lifting a brow and nudging her foot up the tiniest bit until you're forced to jerk forward, banging you knee against the underside of the table because she was _so _fucking close.

Of course, this arouses the suspicions of everyone around you and they all stop laughing, the smiles dropping from their faces and their expressions contorting with confusion as they all look to you and you feel the heat rise up from your neck and spread across your face. Crap. Now you don't know how to explain why you just did that without blurting out that Brittany was touching you up beneath the table.

"Sorry," you say with a sheepish smile. "Twitch?"

It comes out more like a question than an explanation, but everyone seems to read it as the second and just goes back to eating and focusing on how strange Sugar is for talking about seahorses and male pregnancy.

You just look to Brittany with a narrowed but playful glare and she shoots you a wink as her foot slips away.

/

To say you're sexually frustrated would be an understatement.

You're not quite sure how you never noticed just how freaking hot Brittany is before that drunken night, but now it's like someone has finally shown you the light and you can't look at her without catching your breath or checking her out. It's like someone just gave you vision after being blind for so long, and you're not entirely sure whether that's a good thing because you find yourself staring at her ass as she gets up from the table after you all split the check and head outside.

She's only wearing jeans and a white shirt, it's not exactly a dressy meal out, but hot damn she looks _fine. _That denim is hugging her ass and you really just want to reach out and touch—

"Are you coming?"

You clear your throat when you realize you were daydreaming about grabbing Brittany's ass and look up to find... of course, _Brittany _smirking down at you. "You need to stop," you say instead of answering her question.

She smirks and you stand from the table, closing into her side as you two follow the others out. "Stop what?" She whispers, batting her eyelashes innocently.

You narrow your eyes. "You know what, B," you hiss but your tone is laced with affection. "Rubbing up all on me."

"Oh, San," she sighs and loops her arms around yours. You tense for a second, but then you remember you two always did this before you two slept together and so it's just a friendly gestures. "You're the one that started it."

You furrow your brow as you smile at the maitre'D and step outside the restaurant into the cold. "How?"

"You've been giving me looks all evening," she tells you and you grin and chuckle because, yeah, you totally have. "And so I got some revenge."

All the group stops outside and you make sure to hang back a little with Brittany because you don't want them to hear the little conversation going on between you. It's not out of shame or anything, it's that the whole confusion and not-really-knowing-what-the-hell's-going-on thing. Although there are two cabs pulling up and it seems as if they're busy sorting out who's going with who even though you could totally just walk home from here.

"Yeah, revenge that lead to me smacking my knee," you reply and Brittany leans into your ear, her eyes darkening. Oh God, you know that look.

"I'll be sure to make it up to you then," she murmurs, the tips of her lips brushing against the shell of your ear and holy crap, you need to get out of here. Preferably with Brittany.

"We'll walk," you blurt out, without thinking what you're saying. All the groups eyes flash to you, so you elaborate. "I mean, it's only a few blocks away."

Rachel steps forward. "Are you sure? We were just discussing how two cabs won't be enough but if you don't mind then we don't have to wait for a third."

You had absolutely no idea that they were talking about that but you're really glad you didn't think about what you said before you said it because now you get to walk home with Brittany and she can whisper dirty things in your ear and you can... well hopefully she'll be able to do something about the reasons why you're pinching your thighs together and trying to think of your Abuela because you don't want to get a hard on here.

"Yeah," you breathe out, looking totally cool about walking home. "I mean, it's only a few blocks away and you don't mind, do you, Britt?"

You look to her and she smirks, her eyes lingering on yours for a few long seconds before she nods. "I don't mind," she says, directing her voice toward Rachel and you can feel her fingers tightening around your forearm.

"Okay, great," Rachel claps her hands together and turns back to the group.

You just push your tongue to the back of your teeth.

/

You and Brittany all say goodbye to the group, and you all decide that you need to keep meeting up and keeping in touch.

Everyone agrees and smiles, and you nod along to Rachel telling you that she and Quinn are coming over for coffee tomorrow, and you and Brittany both watch the others climb into the cabs after, some struggling a little and piling on top of each other before they drive off, leaving you two on your own. You let out a long exhale once the tail lights disappear into the distance and feel yourself wanting to smile because you two are alone again. There are butterflies in your stomach and you're not sure why you feel a little nervous because you two are just walking home together. It's not a big deal. Friends totally do that all the time.

But still, you feel a little nervous.

"So," Brittany starts and she urges you to start walking. "That was nice," she comments.

You agree with it because yeah, the meal was nice. You guys all caught up in a way that you couldn't at the club because it was loud and everyone was drinking and dancing. "Yeah, definitely. And hey, Rachel's not half as annoying as I remember her being."

Brittany chuckles and pulls you tighter against her, her arm still looped around yours. "Yeah," she trails off and there's a little silence apart from the sound of both your footsteps on the sidewalk before she talks again. "So, why did you wanna walk home?"

You were expecting this, but you still don't really have an answer. "I don't know," you reply with a lift of your free shoulder. "Just means we don't have to pay to drop everyone else off."

"Is that really the reason?" She asks and you stop, just in front of an alley to twist and look at her.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

It's a challenge and you take in the way she licks her lips, her eyes dropping to yours before she answers.

"Just thought you might want to get some alone time with me," she purrs and shifts closer, one of her feet circling the ground as she leans into you, now impossibly close, her finger tracing down the side of your neck. "That's all," she adds quietly, looking up through thick lashes and smirking.

And even though you should probably be a little concerned that you're standing in the middle of a street doing this, you don't seem to have a care in the world and instead wet your lips, whip your head around from left to right as quickly as possible and then push your lips against Brittany's, making her gasp into the kiss as you both stumble back and into the alley. Darkness covers both of you, the light from the street lamp left behind and her hands come up to your face, framing it as your own hands settle on her hips, fingers flexing as you pull her hips into yours, rocking them together to gain some type of friction.

She moans against your mouth as you push her against a wall, trapping her there and she bites down on your lip, your mind swimming with arousal and _Brittany. _You can't help how you feel, and you just let yourself enjoy the way your body reacts to her touch, and how your entire skin flares as her nails graze over your skin and make a path down your chest, stopping at your belt buckle. You're slightly aware that you're in an alley, and that anyone would walk by but your mind's so blurred with Brittany all around you, invading all five senses, that you can't find it within you to even give a crap.

You just want her, and it's stronger than before. It seems to be multiplying every time something happens between you and you know this should probably concern you too, but you've always sucked when it comes to arguing with Brittany and it's getting especially harder to do when her tongue's inside your mouth.

So you just go with the flow because you know she's irresistible.

Brittany breaks the kiss, choosing to nip down your jaw and neck, sucking on your pulse point and you brace yourself against the wall as her fingers work on undoing your belt buckle. The side of her hand bumps your rigid member, bulging against your jeans and you're really fucking glad you decided to forgo to the compression briefs today because you don't think you've ever been this hot and ready before. Something about the risk of being caught, being in a public place and being with Brittany is mixing into the most potent of arousing cocktail and your head flies back as Brittany's hand slides up your side, stroking over your abs before they dip beneath the waistband of your boxers and grab at you.

"_Fuck, _Britt," you moan into the air, jerking your hips into her touch as she bites down on the side of your neck. "Oh, _shit._"

She smirks against your skin and kisses her way back up, bringing your mouths back together and not even hesitating in sliding her tongue into your mouth and flicking it against yours. Her hand begins moving up and down, stroking over your length and the heat builds upon you, heavy in the lower half of your back and hot all over your skin. You always had stamina before Brittany, and could always make sure your girl comes first but Brittany seems to be putting you up to a challenge every time you do something because you're sure you're going to blow any second.

But before you can break the kiss and tell her that she needs to slow down, that she needs to stop being so fucking good at what she's doing, she's pulling away from your mouth, taking her hand out of your boxers and dropping to her knees. You realize the second her hands push up your shirt and her lips press against the skin below your belly button what she's about to do and you gasp, your eyes bulging out your head as your elbows buckle a little.

"_Jesus_," you whisper beneath your breath and you glance down to your body, finding Brittany smirking up at you as she urges your jeans down to your ankles and tugs your boxers down next. Cold air pierces your hot skin, and you wince as your erection springs free, but then there's warm fingers wrapping around you and easily restarting its previous motions and well, you're warming straight back up again.

"You're so big," you hear from below and the dirty talk strikes arousal through you, quick like lightning. You've never been one for dirty talk, in fact you always found it a little cringey, but now that Brittany's doing it you swear you don't want to go without.

So you just suck in your lips and hum out the groan bubbling up your throat, rolling your hips into Brittany's hand before you feel hot breath hitting you and stop. Your breath hitches and your eyes flutter when you feel warm lips press a kiss to the tip of your dick because shit, this is really happening, and seconds letter you have to swallow back a loud, guttural moan as Brittany's fist comes up to the tip and lips cover the top before taking you down, her hand moving with it.

"_Mmm, God, Britt," _you breathe out as she guides you into her mouth, her tongue swirling around your shaft. She's so fucking good at this and she's only just started, and you get to enjoy it as she pulls up, only to push back down again and take you in even further, the wet warmth mesmerizing to you. Goosebumps form over your skin as your tilt your head down, wanting to watch her and you release one arm from the wall to move her hair away from her face, her eyes flicking up as her pink lips move over your dick.

You swear there's nothing hotter in this entire fucking world than Brittany staring at you as she does this, and you groan again, rolling your hips as she begins bobbing her head, her hand still stroking over you as she takes you deep. Your skin's hot to the touch and when she takes you in so deep she has to pull back and wet her lips again, you fall forward a little, needing her on you again as your palm slams against the brick wall to keep yourself up. She's so fucking good at working you up, and you hang your head down, torn between keeping your eyes closed to enjoy the way she's stroking her tongue over you expertly and between peeling them open so you can watch her do her thing.

So instead of choosing, you switch between the two, sometimes unable to keep your eyes open because she's picking up her pace, moving from taking you all in to just sucking on the upper half. Then your eyes open as she swallows you, dragging her tongue along the underside of your cock at a glacial pace as your eyes meet hers, your hips subtly pushing forward because you don't want her mouth to leave you.

But she doesn't disappoint and bites her lip before wetting her lips and sucking you in again. She bobs her head, using her free hand to squeeze at your thigh and urge you to rock into her to keep the pace up and you just watch in complete awe, the pressure building higher and higher, and hotter and hotter inside of you. Though suddenly, after a few rapid bobs of her head, she pulls back and you hear your cock fall from her lips with an obscene wet pop, but she keeps you going by wrapping her fingers around you and carrying on the pace with long, firm strokes.

"Tell me when you're gonna come," she hushes, her voice hoarse and so sexy that your toes curl inside your boots. You just nod frantically, unable to form words as you bite down hard on your bottom lip and she smirks before wrapping her lips back around your cock, her head moving up and down swiftly against you. The pressure gets higher and higher and you drop one hand from the wall, the other still keeping yourself propped up because with the way she's working you, your knees are almost buckling, and push her hair back again when it falls down, needing to see her.

Blue eyes flick up, meeting yours and she holds it as she slows the pace, but takes you in as far as possible, only stopping when her lips press against the base of your cock. You feel the tip of your dick prod at the back of her throat and it just gives you that little push toward the edge, so you shut your eyes, muttering, "I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come," and expecting Brittany to pull back but she just pulls back for a split second, wetting her lips before covering you again and working harder and faster than you've known before.

The heat gets too much, and you squeeze your eyes shut, whispering, "Oh, shit, Brittany. Fuck, I'm gonna—" to yourself.

Though with a few more movements, you feel the spark shoot through you and know you're going to come, and seconds later, you feel yourself letting go, spilling everything you have into Brittany's mouth. Your hips push forward, your hand tangling into Brittany's hair and you still, but she takes you without question, swallowing what you have to give and working you down from your high as the tingles over your body begin dying down, and the blood rushing in your ears dies down until all you're aware of is your heavy breathing and the feeling of your cock slipping from her mouth.

She kisses the space below your bellybutton and pulls your boxers and jeans up, letting your heavy hands do them up as she rises from the floor, smiling at you and brushing her hands over your cheek as you buckle up your belt once more. Then your eyes meet and you giggle, because hot damn, this girl really is amazing.

"Britt, you just..." you words stutter, your mind a little frazzled. "I just, you—"

You don't get to finish your sentence because Brittany giggles, rolls her eyes and presses your lips together, smiling against your mouth. This kiss is a lot softer than the one before, not as frantic and more emotional and you know it should freak you out, but you feel too good at the moment to even care.

And you're still out of breath so it doesn't last for long either, but when you pull back you keep your eyes shut and hum because Brittany's kisses are pretty much amazing and always make your stomach flip. If there's one thing Brittany knows how to do, it's kiss. Girl got some mad skills.

(Although she totally knows how to do other things as well. She's _just_ proved that.)

"Come on," she says, sliding her hand down your arm and grabbing your hand, simultaneously breaking you from your thoughts. "You can stay at mine."

She says it with a dark twinkle in your eye then a wink and your eyes bulge because you totally weren't expecting that; but you just end up nodding like a total idiot because hell yes that's exactly what you want and she kisses you one last time through a smile before pulling you down and out the alley.

/

You wake up in the morning and your body is aching like a mother. You feel like you've just done one hell of a workout, though you suppose last night you did, and when the memories come rushing back to you, you start smiling. Your eyes aren't even open, but you stretch your arms up into the air to work out the kinks you can feel; but as your arms drop back to the bed and your hand comes in contact with the cold sheet of the bed next to you, your eyes snap open and you turn your head because there's no Brittany.

Crap.

You're halfway to panicking when you hear the pad of soft footsteps and look toward the doorway just in time to see Brittany bouncing in with a grin. She's wearing your shirt from last night, and it doesn't even reach the top of her thighs which means her cute little panties are full on show and your mouth waters at the sight. She's _so _fine you sometimes don't know what to do with yourself. One of those times being now.

"Good morning," she chirps, taking a seat by your side, her knee curling beneath her and her other leg hanging off the edge.

You smile and shift up the bed, resting against the headboard. "Hey," you reply, rubbing away the ache at your eyes. "What time is it?"

Brittany spares a glance over at the clock. "Umm, before ten," she says and it's only now you notice the waffle in her hand. Your stomach grumbles at the sight. "Are you hungry?"

You meet her eyes and nod sheepishly. "I'm always hungry," you say and she giggles before moving closer to you and tearing off a large piece of waffle, offering it out. You let her feed you and chew away, smiling as you swallow and she just grins back, her eyes bright and sparkling. "Damn, they're good."

"They're better with syrup," she adds and you nod because they probably would be. Though they are pretty damn good now. "But when I was making them I realized I didn't have any," she pouts.

You push back the urge to lean up and wrap your lips around that pout, and instead let out a laugh through your nose. "Did you make these?"

She tears off another piece and feeds you it as she answers, "Yeah."

"These are some kick-ass waffles, B," you reply, swallowing your mouthful. "I didn't know you could cook."

She ducks her head, blushing a little at the compliment but lifts her shoulder. "I can't," she says, tearing off a piece of waffle and popping it into her own mouth. "I can only cook waffles."

"Well they're some fine ass waffles," you retort through a grin.

Brittany laughs, her hand covering her mouth to make sure she doesn't splutter out some chewed up waffle and you're presented with the overwhelming urge to tug her on to your lap and just kiss her. She's just so fucking cute. Though as she laughs, and as you begin joining in with her, a piece of her waffle drops on to the hardwood floor beneath and she pouts, eying it. You're just about to tell her to leave it and join you on the bed when she bends down, swipes it up and plops it in her mouth.

You grimace, your nose scrunching up. "Britt," you groan. "That was gross."

She looks at you innocently. "There's the five second rule," she replies, lifting a shoulder and you just stare at her, lips parted and eyebrows knitted together. "It means if the food's on the floor for less than five seconds then you can eat—"

"I know, I know," you cut in, waving your hand. "I mean, it's just gross that you'd eat off the floor."

"It was there for like a second," she tries and you grin at her.

"It was still on the floor."

Brittany tilts her head to the side, eyebrow lifting and smirk playing on her lips. "You think_ that's_ gross and yet you'll let me go down on you in an alley?"

It's totally _not _what you were expecting and your face contorts with shock, but Brittany just continues smile as she goes back to eating her waffle again. You can't believe she just said that. She's never openly talked about you and her doing anything, or been so forward before, and actually, it's kind of hot. In fact, it's _really _hot. You could totally get used to that.

So you quickly pick jaw up off the floor and reply, "Shut up. It's totally _not_ the same thing." Brittany gives you a look and you roll your eyes. "You enjoyed it, I enjoyed it, and you know you'd feel the same if I'd gone down at you."

"Hm, yeah, I guess," she shrugs and offers you another piece of waffle. That thing's like, never-ending. "But I'm not so sure you would've been good enough to distract me from the group of people who walked past us, nor would you have been able to distract me from the bunch of trash cans we were near."

You blink. "A group of people walked past us?" You repeat, your mind reeling back to last night, wondering when the hell that happened. Brittany just smirks at you knowingly and you force yourself out of it, shaking your head. "Shut up," you spit playfully, the corners of your lips turning up because she totally got you. "You wouldn't have been able to think about anything else if I was going down on you."

"Maybe," she says with another shrug and splits the remaining piece of waffle between you, giving you yours first. "You're okay, I guess."

You've only gone down on her once, but you know that judging by her reactions that one time that you're more than okay. Plus, your ego's getting a little bruised here and you feel like you should defend yourself. So you do.

"Just _okay?_" You echo, both of your eyebrows shooting up to your hairline. "Is that what you say about someone who made you come twice in the space of fifteen minutes?"

Brittany's hand shoots out immediately, slapping you on the shoulder and you giggle, slightly curling in on yourself to protect yourself as her ears turn pink and a flush creeps up her neck. "Shut up!" She screeches, embarrassed, and you laugh a little more, grabbing both her wrists to stop her from hitting you. "I was drunk and I'm more prone to orgasms when I'm drunk," she tries.

You just lift a brow in her direction. "Well that's a lie," you say, tugging her toward you until she's forced to throw a leg either side of your hips to straddle you. Your hands stroke up the soft skin of her thighs and you try not to think about how easy and free this feels to do this. No awkwardness or discomfort; even though you're topless, your boobs out on show and you're completely naked beneath the sheets her ass is resting on.

"Is not," Brittany argues, her hands resting just below your sternum, the pads of her fingers tracing invisible circles over your skin.

You shudder a little beneath your touch. "Is to, and if you give me another chance, I'll prove it to you."

It's a bit of a bold thing to say, but you think both you and Brittany are comfortable with it considering was so forward before and she's now straddling you and you don't doubt that she can feel your cock hardening beneath her ass. Though as the silence goes on, you realize that suggesting that she gives you a chance to go down on her might have overstepped the line because you've never initiated something yourself; you've always waited for her to make the move and now you think that you're leading her on. What if her feelings for you haven't gone away? _Shit._

"Okay," she responds with a grin and she leans forward, pressing her hands into the pillow beside your ears, her head dropping so your noses bump, lips so close. "Prove it," she whispers against your mouth.

Arousal surges through you but you feel the hesitations building within and you just have to get this out now because you didn't think about it before, and okay, you've had sex three times and done stuff with her, but if you two are going to stop then you need to do it now. You don't want to get involved in this physical thing going on if Brittany has feelings for you. You need to end it because you still want to be friends with her, even if that is without all the ridiculously amazing sex, and you're sure that at this point, you could gain back your friendship. Though if you carry on, later down the line, you're not to sure you could get it back.

"Wait," you say as her lips ghost over yours, her breath hot on your own. You want to kiss her so bad, your lips are tingling with the need to feel hers on them, but you need to voice your concerns. "Britt, wait." She pulls back and looks down at you, head cocked to the side. "I just..." Your eyes flick around Brittany's bedroom, your hands flexing against her thighs. You don't know how to say this without sounding like a total douche. "Britt, I just—" you pause again and meet her eyes. "You said you feelings for me," you blurt out and her head jerks back so far she's now sitting up once more. "I don't wanna lead you on."

Brittany doesn't even flinch and you narrow your eyes because you know that you just sounded like a total bitch. You basically just told her that you have zero feelings for her—of which you're not entirely sure—and that you're just in it for the sex. You did also sort of convey that you don't want to ruin your friendship with her, which you guess will work in your favor if she slaps you and tells you to get out her apartment, but you know you sounded more like a bitch than a good friend.

After all, what '_good friend' _sleeps with their best friend knowing they once had feelings for them? That's a total douche move.

"That was out of the blue," Brittany draws out, her palms flattening over both sides of your ribcage. "But I can tell you right now that I don't have feelings for you."

Something drops in your stomach at the words, but it's what you wanted to hear so you don't know why you feel like you've just been sucker punched in the stomach. Still though, you choose not to show how your feeling and desperately push back the flurry of questions that come into your mind about why she's just made you feel like crap and instead stare up at her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, San," she confirms with a smile that you can't decipher. "I did, but you're kind of a jackass when it comes to feelings so..." she continues playfully.

You gasp, feigning offense and your hands shoot up to pinch at her ribs so she buckles forward, her forearms pressing into the mattress as her face comes back down to yours. "You're such an ass!" You say, though the way you say it shows that you totally don't mean it, and even if you did, you're not sure you could've forced yourself to put on an angered tone because when her face is this close to yours it's kind of hard to think about anything else besides kissing her. "So, are you sure you don't have feelings for me?"

Blue eyes roll and Brittany kisses your cheek, lowering them along your jaw and down your neck. "I do not," she confirms, punctuating with a quick flick of her tongue. "And you don't have feelings for me, do you?"

"Uh," you're slightly distracted by the way her teeth are grazing over your skin and by the way your hands are smoothing back down to her thighs. "No," you manage to get out, tilting your head to the side to give Brittany better access. You can feel the heat already spreading over you and the way you're almost fully hard beneath the weight of her ass. _God, _you wanna get it on with her. "No feelings."

Brittany reels back, her lips detaching from your neck. "Okay, so there are no feelings?"

You shake your head, your fingers tracing on the soft skin of the inside of your thighs. "Nope, no feelings," you repeat, hating the way your tongue recoils like you just lied.

"Okay, we're sorted then."

"So can we have sex now?" You ask because you're not exactly thinking with your brain right now, even though you probably should be.

She giggles above you, lowering her lips back to yours and kisses you quickly, humming against your mouth. "Actually I think you were going to try to prove something to me," she draws out.

You smirk at her, kiss her one last time before sinking down further on the mattress, pulling her legs until there's a knee either side of your head and your hand reaches up to pull her down by the small of her back for your first taste.

You're so going to win this.

/

After Brittany comes hard against your mouth for the _third_ time in fifteen minutes, you bring her down from her high with slow strokes of your tongue until she's reaching down and pulling you up by your shoulder, panting hard. Your head pops out from beneath the sheets and you smirk up at her knowingly, not moving from your space between your thighs and instead resting your chin on the space below her belly button.

"Three times," you comment through a grin, watching her.

Brittany's breathing hard and heavy, her chest heaving and skin damp from what you just did and you just know she can't speak because her lips are moving, her hand's resting on her forehead and she's staring at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath. "Jesus...I—you..." she stammers, shaking her head. "San, you—_Fuck."_

You've never heard her curse before and you dip your head, kissing her abs before you crawl up her body and settle between her legs again, your face now level with hers and the back of your hand brushing over her cheek. "You okay there?" You ask with an amused smile because yeah, you can already tell she's _more _than okay.

Blue eyes meet yours and Brittany shakes her head, an airy giggle pushing past her lips as she tries to form words. "San, I—You... You definitely won," she breathes out and your hand slides up the left side of her ribcage, over glistening sweaty skin.

"_Mmhmm_," you hum and lower your lips to her neck, kissing it over and over with a gentle press of your lips. "I think so."

She giggles again and when her body moves against yours, you become painfully aware of how hard and hot you are. Rubbing your hips against the mattress didn't gain half as much friction as you needed and you don't want to seem like a total horn-dog but you seriously need some release now.

It seem as if Brittany's sensing your thoughts, or reading your mind (that would be weird), because she takes in two deep breaths before rolling on top of you, pressing your bodies back together once more. You hands shoot to her waist to steady her, your mouth forming a groan as you feel your member trapped between your stomachs but Brittany just giggles throatily from above, shifting to straddle you once more and pressing her center against the underside of your shaft, her wetness coating over hot skin and holy crap, you think you're going to explode.

But as you look up, your eyes meeting dark blue ones, you realize that was her intention and you begin chuckling.

"Britt," you whine through a laugh. "You're not playing fair."

She giggles, her hands drifting over your shoulders to your collarbones and then over your breasts, stopping to roll her palms over your nipples. Your head flings back, pressing harder into the pillow at the touch and you get a little bit of revenge as your hips rut, bumping against her still sensitive clit.

"Neither of us are," she points out, punctuating her sentence with a well-aimed press of her hips again. You groan harder. "Though I think I should give you a little payback."

You manage to pull your mind from thinking about how easy it'd be to shift and slide right into her to answer with a cocky remark. "You wanna go for number four?" You grin. "You sure you can handle that?"

Brittany doesn't respond, just tilts her head to the side with a joking _shut up _etched across her forehead and lifts up on her knees, grabbing your cock in her hand and stroking you firmly before she lines you up and slowly sinks down on to you. All the air gushes from your lungs, your fingers digging into her hips and the tightness encompassing you and you watch in awe as Brittany bites down on her lip, pulls her brow together the more of you she takes in. It really is the best thing you've ever seen, and you know you keep thinking that but you can't help it; Brittany's just so fucking _sexy._

"Shut up," she grunts when she's sitting flush against your lap, you buried hilt deep within. You ache with the need to move, to get a rhythm going, but you can see she's in control of this and really, that just made everything a million times hotter, even when you thought it couldn't _be _any hotter. "And just kiss me."

You smirk up at her as she bends down, and you crane your neck, wetting your lips, ready to kiss her and get on with what you know is going to be a mind-blowing release, when you hear the light sound of someone knocking on Brittany's front door and freeze. Both your eyes snap open, meeting and you know that she doesn't even know who it is and you know you should be beginning to panic but right now, you've got a gorgeous girl on your lap, you're buried so deep within her you think if you focused, you could just come from that, so you're good for now. No need to panic.

Though it seems Brittany's curious as to who it is, and not wanting to ignore it like you are because she sits up, putting space between your chests and turns her head toward her bedroom door which is slightly open.

"Who is it?" She yells and you let your eyes trail her body, over her perky breasts, pink nipples and tight abs and you lick your lips. God, you can't believe how freaking _hot _she is.

"_IT'S QUINN AND RACHEL, BRITT. OPEN UP."_

You feel both you and Brittany's body tense, your breathing stop and Brittany's head slowly turns, revealing her almost white skin and wide, panicked, blue eyes that meet your dark ones.

Well, _shit. _You two are officially fucked.

/

**DUM DUM DAAAAAAAAA. **

**You know what to do now, love you all :)**


	7. Chapter 6

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Six]  
**Rating: **NC-17**  
****Length: **7.2k

**Notes: **I can't thank you enough for all the feedback! It's incredible! Hugs all round! Also, have barely skimmed over this so apologies for mistakes.

/

When you manage to brush off the initial shock of being in a _very _compromising position with your friends less than three walls away, you whip your head to the side and look at the alarm clock on Brittany's bedside table.

It's midday and it seems both of you were two swept up in what you were doing to remember that Quinn and Rachel said they were coming over to Brittany's for coffee; and now you're literally in the middle of sex and they're knocking on the door.

You don't even really get time to think or whimper at the loss of being inside Brittany when she jumps off you because you're rolling off the bed, grabbing your clothes off the floor and trying to slip into as many as possible in a short amount of time. Your belt buckle gets caught in your boxers and you can't find your shirt because Brittany had it last time you saw it and somewhere between going down on her the first and second time, she took it off and threw it somewhere, and you're panting so hard you can't even form any coherent thoughts so you're in no mindset to find a freaking shirt.

"Shit," you curse beneath your breath as your foot gets caught in your jeans. You struggle, but finally pull them up your legs and get to work on the button as Brittany rushes to the mirror and runs her hands through her tousled hair. She gives up after a moment, and you lift your head to stare at her reflection as she ties it into a rough ponytail, finding yourself smiling because her face is etched with frustration and she actually looks really fucking adorable.

Though you force yourself to stop thinking like that because you nearly got caught in the act with Brittany and your two friends are hammering on the front door, getting more and more impatient and you haven't even really thought about what you're going to do or say to explain why you and Brittany both look like you just had sex without revealing that you just had sex.

"What do we do?"

You move to the space beside her, checking yourself over in the mirror but promptly giving up. You need more than twenty seconds to sort out your hair. "We can't get caught," you say, your voice shaky. "Quinn's already suspicious!"

Brittany turns to you and swipes her thumbs beneath your eyes, removing some of the smudged make-up. "Just stay in here," she tells you and you can tell she's trying to be calm but you can hear her heart pounding from here. "And I'll go answer the door. Come out a few minutes later and it'll look like you were peeing."

"_BRITT, COME ON. YOUR BUILDING'S FREEZING, OPEN THE DOOR!"_

Your eyes snap to Brittany's bedroom door and back again. "Britt," you hiss through a whisper. "That's not gonna work. You know how Quinn is! Plus it doesn't help I have no shirt, yours is on backwards," you gesture down her body to the twisted shirt. "We both reek of sex and we both look like we just spent the entire night having it!"

The corners of Brittany's lips curl up into a smirk and you know what's coming. "Well, we kind of did," she says with a small shrug.

"That's so _not _the point, Britt!" You half-screech, minding to keep your voice down. "I've seen the way Quinn looks at us and if she's not stupid."

"I know she's not and that's why if I don't go and answer the door she's going to get suspicious," Brittany replies and lifts her eyebrows her a _you know I'm right _way.

You just growl to yourself lift your hands into the air with frustration. You don't know what to do and you're kind of freaking out.

"Fine!" You huff. "Just go and I'll think of something."

Brittany nods, kisses you on the cheek and moves to skip out the door, but you quickly grab her wrist and look pointedly down to her back-to-front shirt. She gives you an apologetic smile, but runs her hands down the front of her stomach and quickly whips the shirt over her head in one swift motion, turning it around in her hands. And you know your eyes shouldn't bug out at the tight abs and perky breasts before you considering you spent half the night worshiping that body, but you still find yourself staring and salivating a lot more than usual.

But then Brittany's clicking her tongue playfully and you're blinking out of it, finding her smirking at you knowingly and you can't resist when she moves to leave again—this time with her shirt on the right way—and grab on to her wrist, spin her around and kiss her softly but quickly.

She pulls away with a dazed smile and you wink. "Now go," you say and smack her ass as she slides out the door.

You just stand beside the slightly open crack in the door and listen to Brittany open the front door and greet Quinn and Rachel. You hear Quinn ask Brittany why she's panting, and you smirk to yourself when Brittany lies that she was just about to get in the shower when they knocked on the door and had to change and rush out. It's lame, but as long as Quinn doesn't see you, you're sure that she won't think anything more of it.

You keep listening to the small talk, wondering when you should come out, but when you're certain they're inside the apartment—you see a flash of blonde and brown hair in the mirror in the hallway—you push away from the door and look around the room, trying not to smile at the crumpled sheets and pillows and instead try to find your shirt. You see it, piled up in the corner when you hear Rachel announce that she needs to go to the toilet you and you begin to panic.

_Shit. _You were supposed to come out the toilet and Rachel has to walk _past _the bedroom to get to the bathroom and it's fucking _Rachel. _She's the nosiest person that you know and she'll no doubt peek her head through the door to look at Brittany's room.

You need to get the fuck out of here.

Your head whips from side to side frantically, your pulse roaring in your ears and you don't know what the hell you're supposed to do. You can fucking hear Rachel's footsteps and the door's open and if she's in the hallway and you shut the door, she'll hear it or see it and bust in, thinking you're an intruder. And you still don't have a freaking shirt on and FUCK, this is _so _not what you wanted to happen or how you wanted Rachel and Quinn to find out if they ever did.

Though it seems the heavens are shining down on you today because as you hear Rachel get closer and closer, your heart thumping so loudly against your chest that it might actually bust out from your ribcage, you look to the window and see the fire escape.

Perfect.

/

You manage to get down two levels before you're caught.

You know how weird it looks, you're climbing down a fire escape and you're topless and shoeless. The only part of your body covered is your legs and your boobs, and that's because you managed to find your jeans and bra but you freaked out and decided to skip on the shirt in favor for leaving. So when you look to your left and find a tall, blonde woman in a track suit staring at you through the window beside you, you freeze and the only thing you can think to do it give a weak smile.

The woman yanks open the window and leans out, eying you curiously for a long moment. You can feel her trying to figure out what the hell you're doing here, but when she speaks you're so shocked you nearly fall off the fire escape and down three levels.

"Did the spouse come home?" The woman says, lifting her eyebrow at you.

You just blink and frown, unsure of how she knows something like that's going on, but instead of that you just correct her. You see no harm in telling this woman. "Actually I'm secretly sleeping with my best friend and our friends just came over and nearly found us."

The woman's eyes narrow further and you wonder whether you should just keep going but it seems she has something to say because her eyes dart around, taking in your shoeless and topless state for what seems like the first time. You don't know how she didn't notice before. "So you're climbing down the fire escape with no shoes and no shirt?" She questions and you go to answer, but she just cuts in before you. "You've got some cajones, J-Lo," she says with approval, bobbing her head and leans back. "You can come in and go through here."

You're a little shocked to say the least, but going through this woman's apartment would be much easier considering the metal grating of the fire escape is cutting into your feet. "Really?"

"Yes, now hurry up before I take back my hospitality," she spits and you hurry inside, ducking in the window and scrunching your toes against the soft carpet when you're inside. "I'm Sue Sylvester, award-winning cheer coach, now who the hell are you?"

You straighten up and offer out our hand. "Santana Lopez," you say, flatly. You don't know what it is about this woman but she's making you feel like you're in the army. "I'm a... a friend of Brittany Pierce."

Sue eyes you with a narrowed expression. "Brittany Pierce? The ditzy blonde from 5A?"

You clench your jaw shut. "She's not ditzy," you hiss, defensively, your hands clenching into fists by your jeans.

Sue smirks at you. "You really do have a big pair of cajones, don't you?" She asks, rhetorically and clasps her hands beside her back as she paces in the spot in front of you. You really do feel like you're in the army. "Now why were you outside my window on the fire escape?"

"I've already said," you grit out. "I couldn't be seen at the apartment but I have to go back now."

Sue stops, looks at you. "With no shirt and no shoes? Seems a bit pointless to climb down two levels if you're just going to go back in there in the exact same state as you left."

Shit. You hadn't quite thought of that. "I don't live far so I'll head home."

"You're going to run down the streets of New York in the middle of the afternoon like this?" She points out with a sweep of your hand. You look down at yourself and second guess your plan. Maybe not. "Exactly, so I shall give you a hoodie and a pair of shoes and you'll be on your way."

You don't know what possessed this woman to be so kind to you, but you're in no position to ask any questions and so you smile at her gratefully and nod. She doesn't react, just keeps a stoic expression and tells you to stay there before disappearing into another room. She comes back moments later with a shirt, hoodie and a pair of shoes, and you don't know whether they fit you or not but hey, you're going to take what you can get right now.

You thank her, take them from her and begin dressing as she tells you all about her third husband who almost caught her cheating with his best friend, so she can sympathize with your situation. You nod along, not wanting to be rude and take a quick peek in her mirror, running your fingers through your hair and sigh when you know you can't do much with it. Though as you do so, Sue grabs something off the dresser to your right and holds out a hairband.

"Put it into a high pony," she commands and you guess she must say that to her cheerleaders as most of them having high ponytails and so you don't argue and are actually pleased with the outcome. It doesn't look like you spent the entire night fucking someone's brains out now.

"Thanks," you say and slip on the boot given, wiggling your toes. They're the right size and for that you're glad. You don't want to have to go back home later on with broken toes. "But I really should be going."

She nods sternly at you and leads you toward the front door, but she stops right in front of it and holds out something she must have been holding behind her back. You barely get to look at it before she's spraying perfume all over your body, wrinkling her nose at the scent. You don't, but only out of politeness because this stuff smells _really bad, _and instead you just eye her quizzically because what the hell?

"You stuck like sweaty, repulsive sex," she tells you and you're a little offended but you brush it off. She did just help you for no reason.

So you just smile at her again and she opens the door, leading you out. But the second you're foot is over the threshold, she called your name and you turn around. "Yeah?"

"If I ever catch you on my fire escape again, I'll push you off," she announces with a firm look. "You got that clear?"

You just stare at her, blink a few time with a blank expression but finally accept her words with a nod.

"Good," she says and without another word, slams the door in your face.

/

You linger about the third floor for a few minutes, checking over your outfit nervously and fidgeting because you're one hundred percent sure that somehow Quinn and Rachel know you and Brittany were having sex before they knocked. You don't know how they'd know, but you have this weird feeling that they do. Even if there's literally _no _way they could. It's pointless worrying and there's a little voice in the back of your head telling you that, but there's a bigger voice at the front of your mind telling you that they do.

So after fretting for a few minutes, you get into the elevator and head up to Brittany's floor, walking along the hallway until you reach Brittany's door. You smooth your moist palms down the front of your (borrowed) clothes and summon the courage to knock on the door three times before taking a step back.

It's only moments later that Brittany opens the door, and her eyebrows push together, her eyes flashing with confusion as she looks at you at the door. You just give a small smile, and you see the twitch in her neck from where she wants to look back into the apartment and down the hallway to her bedroom because she has no idea how you got from her bedroom to here, but you'll just have to explain later. Right now you just cough, and she shakes her head, the confusion growing even more when she takes in you outfit but steps aside, and greets you like you two weren't together ten minutes ago.

"San, you're here," she breathes and you nod before heading into the apartment.

Quinn and Rachel are already sitting on the sofa, cups of coffee in hand and you smile at them. "Hey."

They smile back. "Hello," Rachel says with a smile and Quinn eyes you.

"Why are you wearing half a track suit?" She asks

You roll your eyes. "Didn't feel like getting dressed properly, Fabray. Is that a problem?"

Quinn watches as you walk further into the apartment and take a seat in the armchair, kicking your boots off. "Since when did you own a track suit and those boots?"

You can feel your skin heating up from all the questions because you're not exactly great under pressure. Still, you try to keep up the cool charade and just shrug. "Maybe I felt like changing a little."

"Right," Quinn scoffs back as she takes a sip of her coffee and you just roll your eyes again, deciding it's probably not best to argue with her about your choice of clothing because you don't know what else she's going to ask and you don't really want any more questions. Plus, you know, they're actually _not _your clothes and they're not very _you _so you're just going to go with the flow and bite your tongue.

Brittany comes wandering in from the kitchen seconds later and you're not sure when she went out there, but now she has a cup of coffee in her hand and she hands it to you, throwing you a wink that the other girls can't see as her back's to them and you just share a secret smile because Quinn and Rachel are none the wiser about what happened literally seconds before their arrival.

It was a close call, though.

You take a mental note to be more careful next time.

/

A little later on, when all of your coffees are empty, you pick up your cup and Quinn's and head to the kitchen with Brittany on your heel, holding her own cup and Rachel's.

You two duck behind the kitchen wall and immediately start sniggering like children because Quinn and Rachel literally don't have a freaking clue about you and Brittany. You set down the coffee cups and look at her, biting on your bottom lip because it feels like you two have accomplished something, even if it is something as small as lying to your friends about your pretty fucking incredible sex life.

"Do you think they know?" You whisper as Brittany puts on the coffee pot again.

She turns, crosses her arms over her chest and leans back against the counter with a smirk. "Rachel went to the bathroom but didn't say anything," she tells you and you rest against the counter beside her, mimicking her body language. "But Quinn's being a little weird," she explains, wrinkling her nose up.

"How so?"

"She didn't seem to buy that I was about to get in the shower and that's why I was panting when I answered the door," she recalls, staring you in the eye.

"Well that's because you weren't panting because of that," you shoot back with a smirk and she reaches over, playfully hitting you in the shoulder. "What! I was just saying!"

"You need to keep your voice down," she hisses through a grin and you bump your hips together.

"You should take your own advice at some point," you retort and it takes a few seconds but then her eyes pop out and she slaps you on the arm again. You grab at her wrists, just like you did this morning in bed, laughing your head off, and stop her from hitting you as you pull her a little closer, knowing that you probably shouldn't be this close considering Quinn or Rachel could walk in at any moment, but finding it hard to care because she's like, _right there _in front of you. "I'm just kidding. But it was a close call."

She moves her head, agreeing to your words but her eyes drop to your lips. "Very close," she mutters and your lips turn up into a grin.

"Mmhmm," you hum and poke your tongue out as you lean into her, suddenly finding yourself with this overwhelming urge to kiss her.

And you almost do. Your lips get so close that you can feel her breath on your tongue, but then you hear a clink and reel back, only to find that you knocked the coffee cups with your elbow as your hands have somehow made their way from in front of your chest to her hips. Your vision flits back to Brittany but she's already stepped back out your arms and is grabbing the freshly brewed coffee pot, giving you a smile that doesn't reach her eyes and heading back out to the living room. Without the cups.

So you just sigh and follow her.

Did you do something wrong?

/

It's an hour after the kitchen... whatever it was (incident? If it can even be called that) before Rachel and Quinn leave. You all say goodbye to the door and smile, and neither of the girls leaving think twice about you staying back because you always used to do that before you slept with Brittany, so it's no difference in their eyes.

You make your way over to the sofa and slump down on to it, your arms hanging limply by your side and head tilted back against the cushions. You let out a long breath, still trying to figure out what happened in the kitchen because one second you were about to kiss and then you knocked two cups together and Brittany was acting all weird. You're not sure if it was because you jumped back at the noise, but you didn't do that out of fear that someone had walked in, you were just shocked at the sudden noise and so you pulled back to look at what it was.

Although if that _was _the reason, then why would Brittany have been upset? She knows that the thing going on between you two is secret, and she seemed completely cool with that before.

Unless something's changed.

But it can't have done. You literally had that conversation this morning. About two and a half hours ago, actually.

You're just over thinking things. Nothing's changed and Brittany wasn't acting weird. You're being paranoid and you need to quit it.

Brittany comes over from the front door after waving Quinn and Rachel down the hallway and climbs over your legs, pressing both palms on to your thighs to support herself as she slumps down next to you. You're both a little tired, and you throw your arm over her shoulder as she cuddles into your side because you like the warmth. Plus this doesn't mean anything; like you said before, you two used to cuddle and hug all the time when you were 'just friends.'

Though you suppose you're still 'just friends' now... But with added extras.

Whatever. The point here is that you two can cuddle and it doesn't mean anything.

"Ugh, I'm tired," Brittany groans turning over and throwing an arm over your midsection, her legs coming up on the sofa as her head rests on your shoulder.

You don't move your head from where it's tilted back, just hum in agreement. "Me, too. Swear to God adrenaline takes a lot out of you."

"Definitely," she whispers and you feel a warmth pressing over your entire body, crawling up to the back of your eyelids and pulling them shut. "How did you get out anyway?"

The corners of your lips pull up. "Fire escape," you reply and Brittany lifts her head off your shoulder, so you peer down at her. "What?"

"You climbed out the window and down the fire escape?" She reiterates, disbelief flashing over her features.

You chuckle and close your eyes again, resting your head back. "Yeah. Do you know someone called Sue Sylvester? She lives two floors down."

Brittany moves back to her position, her fingers tickling over your shirt and dipping beneath the hem, stroking over the skin of your hip. You hum into the touch and you know she's not trying to turn you on, or turn the situation to a sexual one so it's nice. You like spending time with Brittany like this. Don't get it wrong, you _love _having sex with her too, but these little moments here when you don't even have to talk and you feel completely comfortable... You just really like them.

"_Mmhmm_," she mumbles, making a noise of acknowledgement even though you can tell sleep is pulling her in. "She's a bit of a mean bean."

You chuckle a little at her description. "Yeah, well, she caught me topless and shoeless by her window."

Brittany shoots up, whipping her head around and your eyes snap open to meet hers. "What!? Why were you topless and shoeless!?"

"When I was gonna come out, Rachel was coming to pee, the door was open and I freaked," you explain like that was obvious. "I couldn't go to the toilet or shut the door without letting her know I was in your room."

Brittany's face just splits into the most wonderful smile as she giggles. "So you climbed out the fire escape half-dressed?" She manages to get out between her chuckles.

You squint at her fiercely and pull her back to your chest, hugging her tighter to you this time. "Shut up. I freaked out and that was the first thing I thought of."

"And you didn't think about grabbing a shirt or a pair of shoes before you climbed out the window?" She giggles into your neck, nuzzling her nose into your skin.

"Nope," you reply, punctuating your sentence with a yawn. "Just got my ass out of there and Sue found me, dragged me inside and gave me clothes before warning me that if she ever caught me creepin' outside her window again, she'd push me off the fire escape."

Brittany chuckles even harder into your neck, her arm tightening around your waist and you just pull her even closer until she's basically in your lap. "She means that, too," she whispers and you can tell she's drifting off by the way her voice lowers and slurs a little.

"Don't think I'll be doing that again," you sigh and let yourself fully relax against the sofa again.

Brittany just nods and you drop a kiss to her hair before you both go silent.

Minutes later, you fall asleep.

/

As the weeks go by, you realize that the strangest thing about you and Brittany is that whenever you see each other—which is still every day, no matter what—you don't always end up having sex. And yeah, that may seem like it's not a big deal when you think that you two are doing other stuff _instead _of sex, but you're not. Admittedly, a large portion of the time, you do end up having sex or doing something at least, but there are times where you don't even think about it.

You'll just be sitting at home and have the urge to be around Brittany, and so you give in and either she comes over or you'll go over there, and you'll just chill on the sofa, cuddled together and watch a movie.

Neither of you talk about it, and you do enjoy the times when she comes over and you can just tell that you two are going to be panting against each others mouth in less than five minutes, but you also enjoy the little things when you're with her. Like you enjoy waking up to her staring at you, or like when you're cooking breakfast and you hear her hum and then moments later, that gorgeous blonde wanders in wearing one of your shirts and gives you the brightest of all smiles.

It's a little strange, but you've trained yourself not to really think about it and none of your friends know so as far as you're concerned, this is still strictly... well you don't know what it is but it's not complicated and you're cool with that.

Still, when you realize you've been having sex with Brittany for over two months and you haven't slept with anyone else in that time span, you sit down at your kitchen island and think for a good hour or two because you're sure that means something. You don't know what it is, but you're sure there's some significance somewhere and even though you've forced yourself not to think about things like that, you're kind of intrigued to know what that significance is. It's like when someone tells you not to look at something, you just want to.

You just want to take a little peek, but you're scared that if you take a little peek, you won't be fully satisfied and will want to see all of it. But that means opening a whole lot of something you're not sure of and you don't know what's inside it. It's like Pandora's Box... and there's a chance you might open it and get something good, but there's also a chance you might open it and a whole lot of crap might come flying out at you and you might get so freaked out that you ruin your friendship with Brittany entirely.

The thing is though, pushing all of that crap about Pandora's Box aside, is that you know _you _haven't slept with anyone else in those two months you've slept with Brittany and she's been everything you need and satisfied you completely...

But you don't know if she's only been sleeping with you.

And the worst part about that?

Is that you don't want her answer to be that she hasn't.

/

Ever since you got that question in to your mind, you haven't been able to think of anything else when you see her. You just want to ask Brittany, to get your answer so you can just figure out what you're feeling because you're not sure whether you _can _even feel anything about it. Technically, you shouldn't because you told Brittany that you didn't have any feelings for her and you know you were talking about romantic feelings but it was kind of implied that you couldn't get other feelings.

Like—this is just from the top of your brain, obviously—jealousy, for example. You can't get jealous because this thing between you is purely for sexual purposes, and there's no reason why you would get jealous because she's not _yours. _She's not your _girlfriend _and you don't want her to be.

(You think.)

(No, scratch that, you know.)

(Nope, go back. You _think._)

Anyway, you don't know whether you can even feel anything about it and so instead of dwelling around for days and days and wondering whether you should just ask her, the next time you go into work, you wait through the shift until it's just you two closing up and left in the building, and then you bite the bullet. It's probably not the smoothest of ways to ask it, because you're standing beside a table, wiping a wet rag over it and you and Brittany aren't actually talking about anything apart from a few strange customers that you had on your shift, but you just come out with it anyone.

"So are you sleeping with anyone else?"

Yeah, okay, definitely _not _the smoothest of ways to get into the conversation, but you couldn't think of anything else, okay?

Brittany lifts her head, glancing at you from across the counter where she's cleaning the cappuccino machine. "What?"

You clear your throat, drop the rag and straighten up before heading to the counter. You give her a small shrug when you get there, and you try not to show that you're actually pretty fucking nervous about what you're asking but you don't think it works, if the small smirk on her lips is anything to go by.

"I was just... I was just asking if you were sleeping with anyone else," you repeat, your eyes darting around the counter in front of you. When she doesn't answer immediately, panic begins setting in and fear grips your chest because now you're not sure if you're allowed to ask that. So with the rush of emotions pouring through you, you just find yourself blurting out something before you can even stop. "I'm not—I mean, I haven't—but I could've done, but I didn't know if I could or if we could get with anyone else. You can if you want, if you have then that's fine, too, but I was just wondering because we need to make sure we're safe if it's just random hook-ups."

You finally finish your nervous rambling and breathe out when Brittany reaches over the counter and sets a hand down on top of yours, urging your eyes up.

"Are you finished?" She asks through a grin and you suck in your lips and nod sheepishly. "Okay, well first, I haven't slept with anyone else," she reassures and your chest loosens. "Second, if you want to sleep with someone else you can but like you said, we need to be safe," you nod along to her words. "And thirdly," she starts but then pauses and you begin panicking again, heat spreading over your face and spiking your skin. "Why did you ask?"

Well, shit. You weren't expecting that.

"Protection," is the first word that comes to mind and you almost roll your eyes at yourself because Brittany jerks back, her eyebrows knitting together. "Just to make sure we're both... safe." You pause and wet your lips, trying to read Brittany's expression because you're not sure if she's going to buy it. And when she stays silent for even longer, and you still can't figure out what's going on inside her head, you find yourself trying to divert the conversation. "Which brings me to my next question, are you on contraception? 'Cause I mean... I know we did... _stuff,_" you lower your voice and Brittany giggles at your sudden shyness. "Without a condom," you whisper like it's a stage secret. "So I just wanna make sure, you know, nothing's going to... happen. Even though I probably should've asked this before but I was a little preoccupied because I wasn't thinking with my..." You pause when you see Brittany staring at you with a smile. "... Brain," you finish, feigning a cough.

You think maybe you were rambling.

Without answering your questions first, Brittany rounds the counter and comes toward you, her hands lifting to frame the hinge of your jaw. "Honey, we're fine in that department," she mutters and you feel your chest fill with relief. "We've been fine the entire time," she elaborates and you nod at her, making her smile. She takes in a deep breath. "So is that everything?"

"Uh, yeah," you say, sorting through your mind. "I think."

She chuckles at you and scrunches nose before dropping her hands and heading back around to the counter. You watch her go, watch the way her hips sway with a dancers grace and how her ponytail moves, too. Somehow even walking she's amazing, and you're not sure how that's possible but there she is, being amazing just by freaking living.

Though as those thoughts process, you realize that _that_ wasn't everything, and find yourself blurting out, "What are we doing then?"

Brittany pauses, cocks her head to the side. "We're closing up shop..."

"No," you shake your head, hyper-aware of how fast your heart's beating now. "I mean... with... _us_," you slowly get out, moving your hands to gesture between the both of you. "Like... we keep sleeping together." You pause to take a deep breath. "And you haven't slept with anyone else," you point to her. "And I haven't slept with anyone else," you point to yourself. "And I'm just wondering if like... because you said I _could _sleep with someone else, and you're allowed to, obviously, if you want," you lift your shoulders and drop them, your palms turning up and sticking out as you do it. "It's not like you need my permission but I just—I don't know what we are."

Brittany's staring at you the entire time you speak, her eyes narrowing more and more and the crease in her brow getting deeper and deeper and you're not really sure how what this means or why she's staring at you like this. It makes you a little nervous, especially when you see her walking back around the counter like she did only moments before and then tugs you by the arm until you're both sitting down at one of the tables you haven't cleaned yet, her hands near yours but not holding them.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" She asks, sucking in her lips.

You squint. "What do you mean?"

"We've kind of been avoiding it, Santana," she replies with a hint of a smile, rolling her eyes. "So, I guess we're talking about it now."

You're not sure what that means, but you nod anyway. "Okay. Let's talk."

"We're sleeping together," Brittany states. "But neither of us have feelings for each other and we're friends."

"Yeah," you breathe, ignoring that itch at the back of your mind that says _no._ "But like, friends don't do this," you continue, proving your point by grabbing her hand.

She stares at you, and as you rethink your words you realize that it could've sounded like you were suggesting a lot more than _just friends, _but before you can correct yourself, or take back your words, Brittany speaks.

"Friends with benefits do."

You feel your hand pull back just the slightest bit, your fingers now resting barely a centimeter away from each other. You don't know why, but you really don't like that label. Not that it isn't like, every guy and girls dream to have someone you can have sex with, without any attachments, but you're just not so sure you like that that's what you're doing with Brittany. It makes the sex sound pointless, and you suppose it is but pointless apart from the obvious reason of both being pleasured, but you just thought it meant more than meaningless sex. That just sounds so... trashy.

"So that's what we are?" You ask, lifting your eyebrow. "We're friends with benefits?"

Brittany wets her lips and sits back in her chair, hands dropping from the table and landing on her lap. "Is that what you wanna be?"

You feel your insides turn at her question, your breath catching in your throat. You don't want to be the one to get the feelings because you were the one that rejected her first. You don't want to suddenly feel something for her and let her know _if _you ever did, if she's only going to turn the situation on its head and do the same thing as you did to her; and reject you.

"I mean... yeah, I guess," you reply with a shrug. "If that's cool with you then that's cool with me."

There's a lack of reaction for precisely three seconds before Brittany's face is splitting into a smile and she's nodding in agreement. "Great," she says and you wish you could read her mind right now. "Okay, well, now that's sorted, can we get back to work? I wanna go home."

You barely even move your head up and down before she's reaching over, patting your thigh and jumping up from her seat, returning to work.

Okay, so you two are friends with benefits. And because it means nothing, it means that you don't have to tell your friends because it's just like a hobby you two do together. You wouldn't tell Quinn that you were going to tennis with Brittany so why should you tell her that you're having sex with Brittany? Plus you know if you tell your friends then they're going to start asking you questions you don't know the answer to and it'll get complicated and friends with benefits isn't complicated.

It's simple and easy and all the benefits of dating someone but without the feelings.

And you can do that.

/

Barely fifteen minutes later and you and Brittany are cleaning over the last of the tables.

Though you can't stop catching the glances Brittany's throwing you, and after the seventh time it happens, you rest you palm down on the table, rag beneath it and lift both eyebrows up at her because you have no idea why she's staring at you. "Why do you keep staring at me?"

Brittany giggles, bites her lips and looks over both shoulders—as if she's seeing if anyone's there despite it only being you two in here—before she glances back at you with dark, blue eyes. And oh shit, you know what that means. You gulp and straighten up, squeezing your thighs together as if that'll stop you from getting a semi. It won't.

"Have you ever had sex at work?" She asks, lowering her chin to her chest and looking coyly up at you through her lashes.

And yep, there it is. You _knew _it was that look. "Uh... no," you reply and Brittany's smirk grows as she discards the rag and comes on over to you.

She grabs your hand and tugs you closer, your bodies pressing together. "You wanna?" She quirks, her voice dipping seductively as she lowers her face to yours.

You just do the only thing you can do and nod before she drags you into the back room.

/

**I know it was a pretty crappy filler chapter but had to do in order to get the ball rolling. But still, t****ell me your thoughts?**


	8. Chapter 7

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Seven]  
**Rating:** NC-17**  
****Length: **7.3k

**Notes: **Once again, thank you guys, and I really love every piece of feedback I get. Enjoy!

/

"Fuck, _Britt,_" you whine, pleasure coursing through your body.

You can't believe you're actually having sex at work. Like, Brittany's _actually_ bent over the pastry table in the middle of the back room, your hands are clutching at her hips as you slide in and out of her, and there's moans and groans bouncing from wall to wall. One of her hands is clutching at your thigh to keep up the pace, and her other hand is curled around the edge of the table, knuckles turning white and you know you're tapping a spot deep inside of her because she keeps squeaking and grinding back against you, moaning your name.

And you're not exactly sure what's hotter; having sex at work or doing Brittany from behind, but you're not exactly too focused on choosing because you're doing both and that in general is just so fucking hot you can't even begin to explain.

The second Brittany had dragged you in here, you were kissing sloppily, tongues meeting tongues and lips smacking against lips, and after working you up by rubbing you over the front of your work slacks, she'd pushed down her own ones, bent over the table and spread her legs, peering over her shoulder and telling you that she wanted you like that.

That's how you got here. You tried to go slow and gentle at first, to draw it out, but the second the head of your cock was inside her, you knew you couldn't. It wasn't going to last long, and so you'd draped yourself over her, kissed her neck at the same time you rolled her nipple between your thumb and forefinger and began thrusting into her rapidly.

"_San,_" Brittany pants, pushing herself up and resting her hands down on the table, her ass sticking out.

You stroke one hand up the middle of her back, your hips jerking into hers. "Shit, Britt—You feel... _fuck,_" you groan as a jolt of pleasure surges through you. "You feel so... so _fucking good," _you continue through heavy pants.

Brittany arches into you, pressing her ass out and you take that as a sign to pick up the pace, pushing harder and deep into her and stilling every other thrust, your hand snaking around body and down between her legs to rub circles over her clit. Her hips rut and she straightens up, one of her hands shooting to grab the nape of your neck whilst the other clutches at your ass, urging you to grind into her as your front presses into her back.

Ignoring the thought of how you wish you and Brittany had taken your shirts off temporarily races through your mind, but then Brittany makes the most heavenly noise as you repeat the grinding motion and you want nothing more than to hear it again; so you do, switching from fast to slow, your body tingling at the sounds coming from Brittany's mouth again and your cock twitching deep inside of her at the clenching that comes with it.

"San, I—" Brittany squeaks, her fingers clenching harder and you can feel her orgasm rapidly approaching as you continue the circles over her clit, pounding into her from behind. "I need—"

She doesn't finish her sentence, too caught up in the pleasure you're causing but you know what you need and you think it's the same, so the hand you're not using to push her over the edge, you slide up her face and gently frame the hinge of her jaw, tilting her head around until you can press your lips together. It's an awkward angle and it's only short, but when you pull away you rest your forehead against her temple, breathing hard against her, you try to fight the sudden affection rising in your chest as she grabs your hand from her face and laces your fingers together, pressing your palm down against her abdomen, the muscles quivering beneath the touch.

It's only two thrusts and a few swift circles around her clit and she's spasming around you, clenching in a vice grip in intermittent waves and holding you tight against her. Your lips press to her neck, tasting sweet and salt from a mix of Brittany and sweat and you squeeze your eyes shut, finding her orgasm bringing you over the edge; and you grind into her one more time until you're following her in her release and spilling into her.

"Britt," you moan breathlessly, holding deep inside of her and she squeezes your hand tighter as she rides out her orgasm with guttural moans and a slight roll of her hips. You let yourself dwell in the sharp, shock waves of pleasure shooting through you.

Then you collapse on to her, burying your face into her neck and she slumps a little, but holds both of you up by bracing her hand out on the table in front of her. You both stay still for a moment, your breathing hard and heavy and you can feel your body recovering from the mind-blowing and slightly public sex you've just had. Seriously, it's got to be one of the hottest things you've ever done, bar having Brittany go down on you after you were out clubbing, and now you need a nap. Or a Red Bull. You're pretty thirsty, actually.

Taking in a deep breath, you manage to gain the strength to stand up and grip the base of your cock as you pull out of Brittany, whimpering at the loss of warmth around you. She shudders too, and quickly spins around in your arms to kiss you softly. Your hands grab at her hips as you kiss, and you think it was supposed to be a quick one but you just get lost into it, stepping closer and breathing in deeply through your nose when Brittany's arms wind around your neck, fingers tangling through your hair.

But it seems neither of you have really caught your breath yet because you begin slowing, moving back to just lips against lips and soft pecks until you break apart, her hands dropping down to your neck, thumbs rubbing circles over the sides of them. Then you're just gazing at each other with smiles breaking out across both your faces.

"Well I've never done _that _before," you whisper and Brittany's nose wrinkles as she giggles.

"Me neither," she replies, twisting wisps of your hair between the tips of her fingers. "It was hot though."

"Definitely," you mumble as you lean in to kiss her again, pressing hard against her lips. "Though if Will finds out he's going to _kill _us."

Brittany chuckles again and slides out from in front of you, picking up your discarded slacks (boxers still inside) and her own (panties in there, too) and hands you yours. "Probably best not to tell him then," she says and you laugh, rolling your eyes and you both go about changing again, but then she pauses, eyebrow lifted and eyes wide. "Wait, are there cameras in here?"

You pull up your slacks, readjust yourself within your boxers and then step toward her, grabbing her hips. "I don't know. But if there is, I'm gonna need a copy of that," you utter and waggle your eyebrows.

"You're such a pervert," she retorts, her slacks now on and she kisses your nose. "But I'd need one, too," she says, meeting your eye and shifting her head a bit so your lips are _so _close. "Now come on, we've gotta finish clearing up," she finishes with a kiss to your lips.

You just grin and watch her saunter out the door before following.

/

After switching off the lights and the machines, you and Brittany grab your coats from the back room, shrug them on and head back toward the front door. You bump your hips and arms together on the way, giggling at nothing in particular and when you get there, your hand reaches for the latch to unlock it. Though when you do it, it doesn't budge and you switch your attention from Brittany to the door, frowning at it.

"What's wrong?" She asks, stepping closer.

"The lock..." You trail off and flip it the other way, tugging on the door, but now it's locked. "Shit," You whisper, realizing what you've done. Your pulse begins racing and you whip your head to the side to stare at Brittany. "We didn't lock the door when we..." You tilt your head to the back room, gesturing to it.

Brittany just giggles and your face drops. Shouldn't she be more worried about that? "Then if anyone walked in they would've got one hell of a show," she replies nonchalantly, and reaches for the latch, tugging your hand from it to take over unlocking the door and pulling it open. "And no-one would've come in, San. It's midnight on a Thursday night, so stop worrying."

You guess she's right, but you still feel a little weird.

"So are we gonna leave or stay here and I can watch you panic for a little while?"

Your eyes flit to her and a smile breaks across your face at the sparkling blue eyes and teasing grin on her face. "Let's go," you sigh and she leans down, kissing you on the cheek before she smacks your ass and you walk out the door, leaving together.

/

The next morning, you get a text from Quinn reminding you that you're supposed to come shopping with her and Beth today. You'd totally forgot, and so you rush when you realize you have half an hour to get dressed and jump in the shower, taking your toothbrush with you so you can kill two birds with one stone. Your hair's a mess when you finally stumble out your front door, and you keep fidgeting with the front of your jeans on the elevator ride down because you totally put on the wrong boxers and now they're bunching uncomfortably in all the wrong places.

But finally you get outside your building, smiling at the doorman that you swear chooses his shifts, and find Quinn's car parked up outside and a very unamused Quinn sitting in the front, Beth strapped into her kid's seat in the back. Even to this day, you're not sure why Quinn has a car in New York because it seems kind of pointless, but you suppose she has a kid and Puck lives out near Coney Island and you, Quinn and Brittany all live in Upper Manhattan so it's a bit of a drive. Plus it means if you ever need a car, Quinn can lend you hers so there's a point there.

Anyway, you climb into the car and Quinn doesn't even bother looking at you. You just sigh, roll your eyes because you know she's pissed at you.

"I forgot," is the first thing you say, and you probably should've gone with a greeting but whatever.

"I'd call you something but my six year old daughter's in the back seat and I don't curse in front of her," Quinn grits out through clenched teeth.

You shake your head. "Get that stick out your ass, Fabray," you whisper and you see her head snap around because you just swore but it was low enough that Beth wouldn't have heard.

"You are _so _lucky my daughter's in the back, right now.

You scoff and wave your hand at her as the car peels away from the curb.

You don't talk for the rest of the ride.

/

Beth decides that the moment you get to the mall, she's hungry; so you all head off to the food court and you go to the small Chinese vendor whilst Beth and Quinn head off to McDonalds. You all meet back at a table and eat together, trading random pieces of gossip and keeping up conversation.

It's nice, and Beth sits there and plays with the toy she got from her kid's meal whilst you and Brittany talk about how Puck keeps proposing that he and Quinn give it another shot. Not that Puck's not a nice guy, it's just he's not exactly reliable, and Quinn needs someone who's reliable because she works, studies and looks after Beth. It's pretty hectic.

It's also one of the reasons you don't mind helping out whenever Quinn needs it.

You finish up your meals and throw the rubbish in the trash before heading off to do some shopping. You head into various stores, and it's not until you get into _GAP_ and Beth's off looking through the clothes in the kids section that it happens.

"Is Brittany seeing anyone?"

Your hands still from where they're sorting through the clothing rack and you feel the blood drain from your face. "What?" You get out, clearing your throat to regulate your voice. "No. Why'd you ask?"

Quinn's over the other side of the clothes rack, sorting through the items on hangars. "I was over at her apartment the other day, picking Beth up, and I had to go and find Beth because she was playing hide and seek."

You nod along, trying not to pay too much attention or show that you're too interested.

"And Beth was hiding in B's room, but when I got there, I found a broken necklace that I know isn't hers."

You frown, wondering why Brittany had a broken piece of jewelery on the floor when you become remotely aware that your neck is very bare. You want to touch to see if it's there, but you know it's not and you gulp loudly, wondering if Quinn's going to pick up on it. Crap. How didn't you know it was gone before?

"So?" You hiss. "She might have bought it without telling you. She doesn't exactly have to run everything by you, Fabray."

Fair eyebrows furrow as Quinn stares at you, but you just swiftly move to the end of your current clothes rack and spin around, starting on the one behind you to hide your face. You can feel your skin getting hot and prickly from where you're feeling the pressure and getting scared, and you know you need to force it away and act cool. You're never usually like this when trying to hide something, but you suppose you've never had to hide that you're having sex with your best friend so of course this would be different. Though you are being too defensive. Quinn will pick up on that so you need to tone it down.

"I don't know," Quinn starts again, breathing out her words. "I mean, she's not a necklace kind of girl."

"Maybe she is now," you offer with a shrug and push a batch of ugly, orange sweaters to the other end of the rack. "Or she might have found one she likes."

Quinn doesn't answer for a long moment, but then she's suddenly there beside you, hand snapping out and landing on the clothes rack in front of you to stop you from sorting through it and urge your eyes up to hers. When you look at her, her hazel eyes are narrowed and she's quirking a perfectly shaped eyebrow and you just _know _she's getting more and more suspicious every time she catches you and Brittany together or every time you two talk about Brittany.

"Are you hiding something?" She asks slowly and you resist the urge to choke at the question, but then she elaborates with, "Are you hiding that she's dating someone?" and you calm down a little.

So you step out from the clothes rack and shake your head, trying to act as cool as a cucumber. "I don't know, Q," you say and pick up a pair of jeans, unfolding them and looking them over. Except you're not really looking them over. "She might be." You pause and peer over your shoulder. "Why don't you just ask her?"

"I was going to," Quinn draws out, stepping toward you and picking up a pair of jeans for herself. "But then I figured I'd ask you instead."

You stop, look at her. "Why?"

"Because if she hasn't told you then she obviously wouldn't tell me and that means she doesn't want people to know."

It makes sense, and yet you still furrow your brow at it. You're sure that if Quinn's thought it through that much then she must be pretty damn curious and suspicious, though you also know she'll be taking your silence to mean something and so you shrug, pull a face that shows you're not interested (even though you are) and spare a brief glance at her. "Yeah, I guess so. But it's Britt. She'd tell us if she was dating anyone."

Quinn looks at you but just accepts it. "True," she says and folds the jeans over her arms. "I'm going to the changing room to try this on, will you watch over Beth?"

You swallow and nod. "Sure," you smile back and Quinn walks off.

You just let your hands search through the clothes whilst your mind goes elsewhere.

/

You don't mention it to Brittany until the next day when you turn up at her house.

You let yourself in, smiling at her on the sofa and shrug off your jacket, hanging it up before she comes toward you with a smirk, holding the phone to her ear. You mouth "_who is it?" _and she just says "_mom," _so you nod and begin heading back to her bedroom, already undoing your belt buckle. You could tell by the speed in which she got up from the sofa after you came in, as well as the twinkle in her eye and the smirk, what's going to happen now, and it's definitely _not _cuddling and watching the sofa.

She follows you and when you get into her bedroom, you hear her say goodbye to her mom and hang up the phone, closing the bedroom door behind her as she comes in. You turn around, grinning at her and she sets her phone down on the dresser and gravitates toward you in the middle of the room.

"How was your day?" She asks and you sigh, bending down to shuck off your shoes.

"Boring. My professor talked _at _us for like three freaking hours," you reply. "How was yours?"

Brittany giggles and strips herself of her shirt, throwing it to the side. "I had a two hour shift and then had my mom talk at me about why I'm not applying for the internship in London."

Pushing your jeans down, you throw her a look. "Internship?" You repeat, scrunching your brow. "And how come Will didn't give you a longer shift?"

"There's a discussion going on about a few students going for one or something," she waves her hand and shimmies out her shorts before crawling on to the bed and lying down on her back in just her underwear. You twist around, eyes flitting down her body and you gulp at the sight. You've seen her naked hundreds of times and it still manages to take your breath away. "And we've got a new girl coming in at work and she needs training but apparently I'm '_incapable of training someone_,'" she finger quotes. "According to Will, so he sent me home and took over."

You grin at her expression and take off your shirt, moving around to the side of the bed to set your phone on the table. "He's an ass, so don't listen to him," you say, looking to her and straightening up. "You're a genius, Britt," you add with a shrug and Brittany's eyes twinkle as she props herself up on to her elbows. "But I'll have a word with him, if you'd like?"

"No, it's fine," she sighs. "I think the gel he puts in his hair melts his brain anyway, so."

You laugh and climb on to the bed to join her, shifting over her body and settling between her thighs. You raise your hand to brush the back of it over her cheek and give a warm smile. "Hey."

Brittany's eyes soften at your tone and she pushes back some of the hair curtaining around you to get a better look at your face. "Hi," she replies, quietly.

And God, she's just so fucking cute you can't help but scrunch your face up and dip your head, kissing her softly. It's just the press of lips against lips, but you feel it flow through your body, warm your veins and chest and even make your toes tingle. You were never aware before kissing Brittany that kissing someone could make your freaking _toes _tingle, but here she is, proving that it_ is_ possible.

"That's better," you sigh against her mouth, moving your lips to speak against hers. Now you feel better. All the shit's just washed off you now and you're no longer stressed about the assignments your professor set out or pissed off from the three hours he spent babbling in your lecture. You're just here, relaxed and calm. Thank _God._ Or rather, thank _Brittany_. She is the one that makes you feel like this, after all.

Brittany smiles against your mouth, and you open your eyes to spare a quick glance into her eyes, which are open too, before kissing her gently again, your eyes fluttering shut when she sucks on your bottom lip. She really is the best kisser _ever, _and that's not even an exaggeration. She just knows how to make you feel better with different types of kisses, but your favorite are these ones; the soft, gentle press of lips that make you feel like you've just had a massage.

Don't get it wrong, you love those aggressive, hot, opened mouthed ones you two have when you're getting it on, but you just really like these.

Her hands move, one sliding down to your ribs, the pads of her fingers caressing over the skin of your ribs and making you shudder and her other hand moves up to the bare skin of your neck, cupping it gently as you two continue to kiss. Though as her fingertips begin toying with the hairs at the nape of your neck, you're suddenly reminded of the lack of necklace and kiss her for a few more seconds before pulling back, propping yourself up on your elbows.

"I forgot to tell you," you start but she wets her lips, stares up at you with those clear blue eyes and shows she's willing to listen and honestly, it's kind of distracting. You grin a little before shaking yourself out of it and forcing your mind back to topic. "Quinn thinks you're seeing someone."

Her eyebrows knit together instantly, her hands stopping their movement. "What? Why?"

"She found my necklace on the floor in here a few days ago," you explain. "And she knows it isn't yours."

"Why was your necklace here?"

"Uh, it probably fell of whilst we were..." You trail off and raise your eyebrows, leaving the rest up to Brittany but she just laughs and shakes her head, her fingers coming up to your jaw.

"You can say we were having sex, San," she tells you through a grin. "I think we both know," she whispers, teasing you.

You roll your eyes playfully and shift your weight on your arms. "Fine," you sigh like it's such a bother. "It must have happened when we were _having sex,_" you emphasize the words by strengthening your voice and waggling your eyebrows and Brittany throws her head back, laughing as her hands trail to your arms, stroking over the toned muscle on your biceps. "But she found it and now she thinks you're secretly seeing someone."

Brittany quickly recollects herself, putting on a serious face but you just lean down and bump your nose against hers because you can tell she wants to giggle.

"Did you try to tell her it was mine?" She finally manages to get out.

You lean all your weight on to your left arm and let your fingertips trail over her cheek, down her jaw and then down her neck until you're following the curves of her collarbones. "Yeah," you breathe, your eyes moving down to follow your fingers. "But she said, _'Brittany's not a necklace kind of girl,'_" you retort in a funny mimicry of Quinn's voice.

Blue eyes sparkle up at you as Brittany laughs again, her entire body vibrating beneath yours. "Good impression," she commends you and you thank her with a wink. "But why hasn't she asked me?"

"Apparently if you haven't told me then there's no way you'd tell her, and therefore you don't want people to know or some shit like that." You wave your hand off to the side as if to flip off Quinn's statement.

"True," Brittany reasons and well, yeah, Quinn definitely had a point. Brittany does tell you more stuff than she tells Quinn. "We'll just have to be more careful then. With the necklace and all."

She traces a line around where your necklace would be and you shudder, your eyes fluttering shut at the touch. It's feather soft, but it still makes arousal slice through you and settle deep in your gut. The things Brittany does to you, honestly.

"Yeah," you get out through a shaky breath. "But can we not talk anymore? Knowing that I was going to be here was the only thing that got me through my lecture, I swear."

Brittany doesn't respond, just slides both hands to your cheeks and pulls you down for a kiss, her lips stretching into a grin beneath yours.

/

You kiss for long, hot moments, and you start this little game where you keep rolling over each other and fight for dominance. Though it just ends up with both of you laughing against each others mouths and lying on your sides for a few moments.

But it doesn't deter you though, and you play a little dirty by tickling your fingers up her thighs when she's straddling you until she buckles and you take the opportunity to roll her over and settle between her thighs again. Hands stroke over skin, nails scratch over flesh and groans and moans come from left, right and center as you both realize that playing dirty works a lot better than sheer strength.

Though finally you end up on top, your hips pressed into hers and her thighs either side of them and you thoroughly distract her by dipping your tongue into her mouth and stroking your hand at the piece of skin below her bellybutton so she doesn't try to get you back. It was a struggle, but you got here and you grin against her mouth, flicking your tongue against hers before your hand begins lowering and you're literally a second before dipping your hand beneath the waistband of her panties when you hear your phone go off.

You pull your lips from hers to glare at it, really _not _wanting to be distracted and Brittany takes this opportunity to kiss down your neck, squeezing her thighs around your hips and completely pulling your attention from your phone until you're moving back to kiss her again. One of her hands slides through your hair, her tongue stroking into your mouth this time and her other hand makes a path up your ribs until she's cupping you breast over your bra. You moan, pleasure jolting through your and you press your hips into hers to earn the most delightful aroused hiss.

You smirk into the kiss, thinking you've won this and now you get to be on top (not that you totally don't love Brittany being on top because _hot_, but you like this game) but then as she's thumbing over your nipple, as your cock twitches beneath the fabric of your boxers as it hardens, _and _as your lips press kisses down her neck, sucking at her pulse point until she's arching her back, your phone goes off again.

Groaning loudly, you pick your head up because whoever is calling you needs to fuck off, but then Brittany's pulling your head back down, kissing you to distract you and flipping you over once you're entirely distracted with the feel of her tongue in your mouth. And all of a sudden, you really don't care who's on the phone.

Your hands stroke up her thighs as the kiss deepens, your tongues now meeting in the middle and teasing each other with light flicks before she presses your head harder into the pillow and pushes her tongue into you mouth, and once you reach the top of her legs, you begin curving in. You're once again, literally a centimeter away from finding out how wet and ready she is for you when your phone goes off _again, _and this time you feel like throwing it out the damn window.

She stops kissing you altogether and sits up, and you suck in your lips as you stare at the ceiling, frustration pouring through you. You just want whoever it is to stop calling you, or to fuck off, either one's good, but now they've called you three times and you just want to know who it is. Clearly it's important and even though you've got a tug in your stomach telling you to just switch your phone off and give in to what both you and Brittany want, there's that rational part of your mind saying that someone would only ring you three times consecutively if something was wrong.

But it seems Brittany's thinking exactly the same way because when your eyes return to her, she's staring at your phone, her hands resting between the valley of your breasts and she's chewing on her bottom lip, probably debating the same thing you are.

"I think you should answer it," she says after a while.

"I don't wanna answer," you reply and squeeze her thighs, urging her hips down as you push up with yours. "I wanna do this," you purr as her back buckles and she catches herself with her hands either side of your head.

"We will," she says and kisses you. "But I want your attention on me and I know you wanna know who's ringing you. So just pick up."

You want to argue and say that no you don't care, but you then see the pointed look she's shooting you and your eyes roll. You sometimes forget that she knows you better than you know yourself.

So with a final, loud exhale, you stretch over and pick up your phone as Brittany's hands trail down your stomach and trace over the lines of your abdomen.

Whoever it is better make this quick.

/

"What?" You grunt into it as Brittany flicks her hair going over before bending down to kiss your neck again. Yep, the person on the phone needs to hurry up. Especially considering Brittany's now sliding her tongue up the muscle in your neck and biting down lightly, making the arousal curdle and tenfold within you.

"_Now that's not a very nice way to greet your mother, is it?"_

Your eyes bug open and you jerk into a seated position, Brittany pulling back with the movement. "Mom," you breathe.

Brittany just looks at you, lips sucked in to hide the smile on her face and you can tell she's terribly amused that it's your mom calling just as you two are about to get jiggy.

"_Why didn't you pick up your phone the first two times?" _Your mother questions angrily and you squeeze your eyes shut, pinching the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger.

"I'm a bit busy," you say and well, it's not exactly a lie; you _are _busy. Or _were _before she interrupted.

"_Well you really need to pay more attention to your phone, mija. What if this had been an emergency?"_

Your eyes narrow and Brittany tilts her head to the side. You think she can hear your conversation because you're pretty close but you're not sure. "So this _isn't _an emergency?"

"_No," _your mother responds, cheerily and right, well you kind of want to hang up right now. You basically picked up for no reason._ "I called to talk to my daughter."_

"What about?" You hiss and Brittany's eyebrows raise at your tone. You suppose you've never talked to your mother like this, but when you're hard and you've got a gorgeous blonde on your lap that your _mother _is currently cock blocking you from, you find that your give-a-fuck producing machine is broken.

"_I want to see how you are. Is a mother not allowed?"_

"Yeah, but I'm kind of busy," you retort and let your eyes trail down Brittany's body to wear you're tenting beneath your boxers, _so _close to where you want to—_shit. _No. You can't think like that whilst your mom's on the damn phone. That's just fucking weird. "So if that's it then I'm gonna go and call you back later."

Brittany crosses her arms then, giving you a disapproving look and you want to complain at her that you two were about to get down and your mom is the one she should be giving a disapproving look for interrupting, but then she lifts her eyebrow, sensing your words and you swallow them. For fuck sake. This is one of the negatives to being friends with benefits with your best friend; she still has the friend part of her that makes you do and say things you don't want to.

"_Fine," _your mother sighs and you smirk triumphantly. _"There is something else."_

"I fucking knew it."

"_Santana! Language!"_

You push your brows together incredulously. "I'm twenty-two, ma!"

"_But you're still my baby," _your mom coos and you know Brittany heard that because she lifts her hand and covers her mouth, stifling a giggle.

You grin idiotically at her—because let's face it, she's fucking adorable—but then you bit your lip to hide a broken moan because she shifts and her hips wiggle distractingly and you can still feel your erection pressing against your thigh. Damn it. Being on the phone to your mom whilst you have _that _is so _not _cool. You just wanna get off the damn phone, grab Brittany by the thighs and get back to what you were doing.

Still though, you know you can't just dismiss your mom and know you're curious about what she has to say. "Okay," you sigh, shaking your head and resting back your free arm to hold yourself up since your back's aching from holding yourself up now. "What is it?"

"_The family's coming down from Ohio to visit us and we want everything there."_

Definitely _not _what you wanted to hear. You have these family gathering's every year or so and they're _so _fucking boring. You wind up sitting on the deck at your parents house, playing fucking _Monopoly _and listening to your prepubescent cousins talks about how they looked down some girls shirt and found it was '_the sexiest thing they'd ever seen_.' And you love your family, you really do, but those gathering's are just so freaking tedious and you don't want to go.

"Do I have to come?"

Brittany tilts her head as she listens to you, and even though you're mom's ranting and giving a million reasons why you need to and should come, you find yourself unable to break from the eye contact Brittany's holding. So you just stare, a smile tugging at your lips and she smiles back, stroking a finger down the side of your neck and makes you shudder. You really just want to kiss Brittany right now, and you don't want to be on the phone and Brittany's just sitting there, not complaining or grunting with impatience and then you feel this overwhelming urge to thank her.

So you pull the phone away from your ear, leaving your mom to rant to yourself and cover the bottom of your cell with your hand.

"I'm sorry," you whisper to Brittany. "She talks for ages."

Brittany giggles and lifts a shoulder, now tracing over the crook of your neck. "It's fine," she whispers and then bites her lip. "I'm warm and comfy," she continues, wriggling her hips again.

You move your arm, forgetting you were propping yourself up with it and fall flat back on the bed, your hand clutching at her waist to still her movements. "Britt," you whine. "Don't do that."

Her expression turns quizzical but you just let your eyes flit down to your very obvious bulge and she chuckles lightly, but then stops, suddenly looking guilty when you shoot her a look.

"Sorry," she apologizes and moves backward a little so she's sitting on your thighs instead of your hips. "And shouldn't you be listening to what your mom's saying?"

You steal a brief glance at your phone, now pressed against the mattress to cover the speaker. "Nah, she'll be ranting for a good five minutes," you wave off flippantly and set your hands on her knees.

"What does she want?"

"The Lopez clan are coming down from Ohio and she wants me to go to Miami for a family gathering," you explain and let your fingers tickle over her kneecaps, tracing the shapes of them.

"You should go," she offers with a smile, reaching down to take your hands and slide her fingers through yours.

You pout at the suggestion, frowning, too. "I don't wanna," you protest like a little kid. "They're _so _boring."

A fair eyebrow lifts. "Well I know you haven't seen your mom since _at least_ July and that was four months ago," she points out and shit, she's right. "So maybe you should go," she shrugs.

You know she has a point, and you let out a long sigh because you know it, Brittany knows it and you're even sure your mom knows it; you're going. It still doesn't mean that you want to but you do miss your mom, and your dad. You haven't seen your cousins since last year either, and hey, every time you see your aunt, she always give you twenty dollars. You know you're not twelve but it's free money so you're not going to complain.

"Uh, San?" Brittany says and looks down to the phone.

"Oh, yeah," you suddenly say, grabbing it and pulling it to your ear. Your mom's still rambling and so instead of listening to the hundredth reason why you need to be there, you just cut her off. "Mom," you call. "Mom, I'll come down."

"_You will?" _Your mom says, excitedly and you look to Brittany who gives you a smile. Okay, that totally makes that entire weekend worth it.

"Yeah, mom. I'll come down."

"_That's fantastic," _you mom continues. _"Your cousins will arrive on the eighth and everyone else is coming on the ninth, so choose when you'd like to."_

"The eighth is a Friday right?" Brittany nods at you and you hear your mom hum down the phone. "Okay, well if I'm coming down I might as well make a weekend of it."

"_I'm so excited! I'm gonna see my baby girl!" _Your mom cheers and you roll your eyes, despite the grin on your face. _"Oh, but Santana?"_

"Yeah?"

"_Are you in a relationship?"_

Your face drops and Brittany's face contorts with confusion. "Ma," you say, flatly.

"_I know, I know, but you did say you were... _busy," she comments and your face twists with disgust. _"And I'm not stupid, sweetie; I know what that means. So if you do, bring her with you."_

Your face twists even further because you can't believe your mom just made an open reference to your sex life, so you just shake your head, closing your eyes against the way Brittany's staring at you like she wants to know what's going on and you say, "Whatever. I'm going."

"_Love you, Santana!"_

"Yeah, yeah," you say and mumble a quick, "Love you, too," before you hang up, switch it on silent and throw your phone off the side of the bed. There's no way in hell anyone else is interrupting you.

"So when are you going?"

You're surprised that Brittany hasn't already leaned down and pressed your lips together and got on with it, but you answer anyway. "Next weekend," you reply and stroke your hands up her thighs, then over her stomach and press your palm flat against her abdomen.

"For the whole weekend?"

You move your eyes from what you're doing with your hand to her face. "Well, yeah," you say, letting out a short laugh through your nose. "I mean, it's Miami, so it's not like it's close."

Something in the air shifts as your voice trails off, and it's only when you watch her eyes drop down and her body sag a little that you realize she's a little put out by the information. You tilt your head against the pillow, not understanding why the sudden change in emotion but then you go over the situation in you're mind and all of a sudden you're feeling exactly the same is Brittany because it hits you; you've seen Brittany _everyday_ for the past four months or so and now you're going to spend a weekend apart.

So you stare at her, chewing on your bottom lip and a thought goes through your head. You know your mom said you could bring a girlfriend, and you know Brittany definitely isn't your girlfriend, just your best friend and the only woman to have ever _really _rocked your world, but you suppose it wouldn't be that bad, right? Like, she could totally come and you could just tell your mom that you brought a friend instead of a girlfriend. That'd be okay.

You think.

So you just put it out there, in one quick sentence, "Do you wanna come with me?"

But then silence follows, and then you're just left staring at a very shocked Brittany.

And you can't help but think... Did you just cross a line?

/

**Not really a cliffhanger but yeah... Hope you enjoyed and if you wanna leave a few comments then you'd be making a girl very happy :)**


	9. Chapter 8

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Eight]  
**Rating: **NC-17**  
****Length: **7.2k

**Notes: **I didn't really think about how long this would be, but I can tell you that it's not even halfway through the fic yet, according to my plans. So thank you for encouraging me with this story, it's great! Anyway, hope you enjoy ;)

/

_'Do you wanna come with me?'_

It's such a simple question and yet you feel like a complete _idiot _for asking. You literally _just _talked to your mom and she asked if you had a girlfriend, and if so, you could bring her to the family gathering next weekend and for some fucking reason you've just asked Brittany to come with you, even though you're pretty sure she heard the conversation between you and your mom which could explain why she's staring at you with parted lips, raised eyebrows and wide eyes.

And you can't even take the words back and shove them in your bedside drawer. They're already out and now you've just gotta wait for the answer.

"You want me to come with you?" Brittany finally repeats, one of her hands toying with the strands of her hair. You know that means she's nervous and you gulp and nod anyway. You do want her to come with you, but you just don't want her to take it the wrong way. "Like, to your family gathering?"

Dumbly, you nod again and wet your lips. "Well, yeah," you say, awkwardly lifting a shoulder as much as you can from this position. "I mean, if you're not doing anything."

"I'm not," Brittany shoots back, straight away, shaking her head. "But I mean... are you sure?" She asks through slightly squinted eyes.

It's only now that you realize Brittany wasn't freaked out by the suggestion, but nervous that you didn't mean it. Because of that, you let out a small chuckle and nod your head as much as you can, your hands reaching out and grabbing hers, fingers tangling together. "Of course I am," you breathe. "I mean, if you feel uncomfortable then you don't have to but—"

"No, no," Brittany interjects. "I'd like to come," she says, bobbing her head to add to her approval of the suggestion. "Miami, babyyyyy," she sings and you chuckle because she's ridiculous but so sexy and cute. You don't know how to deal with her sometimes.

You grab the back of her thighs, holding her and take the moment she's laughing as a distraction and push up and over, knocking her back further down the bed. Her hands cling at your shoulders and her legs fly into the air, wrapping around your waist, ankles crossing and locking, but you just dip your head to kiss her softly, humming against her mouth when you pull away because you're still pretty hard and you know she can feel it.

"Mmhmm, you got that right," you mumble against her mouth. "But I believe we were in the middle of something," you suggest, your tone dipping.

Brittany's laugh gets lost against your mouth as she tugs you down into a kiss, her hand snaking between you and dipping beneath your boxers.

/

The week goes by and nothing interesting happens. Quinn seems to have turned down the suspicion and hasn't brought up the dating thing to you nor Brittany, so you're assuming she got bored with not knowing and gave up. You're kind of glad; it was starting to freak you out because when Quinn wants to know something, she'll do absolutely everything in her power until she finds out. You learned that in the first two weeks of being friends with her.

But anyway, the weekend comes and you tell Quinn that you're heading off to Miami to visit your family and Brittany says that she's going back to Nebraska to have an early Thanksgiving. Quinn doesn't question it and even though her lack of reaction is actually making _you _suspicious, you ignore it and focus on going to Miami with Brittany.

A few days ago you managed to book two cheap, last-minute return tickets and you figured since you offered to take Brittany, you would pay for hers so when she asked you how much it was, you just waved her off and told her she was actually saving you from death by boredom. She'd done that soft smile where she'd held your eye, breathed out deeply and then let the corners of her lips tug up into a smile that made your heart leap against your chest.

Though you acknowledged that probably wasn't the best reaction to have for your fuck buddy.

So moving on, you and Brittany packed your bags and you headed off to Miami, arriving in the early evening to sun, warmth and basically everything that New York isn't. It's truly a breath of fresh air and when you get off the plane and go to the baggage claim section, you call your dad and ask him to come and pick you up. Your parents moved down here after you moved to the Big Apple four years ago, seeing no point in staying in Bumfuck, Ohio, and you were a little reluctant considering it was a big change for them because they aren't getting any younger, but when you'd seen the house they'd bought and just how freaking beautiful Miami is with its blue sea and white sand, you didn't think it was too bad.

(Plus, not to be selfish but hello? Free holiday.)

But anyway you both grab your baggage and head out the front of Miami International, standing in front of the taxi stands and glaring at the few, greasy drivers who eye Brittany up beside you. You only get to do it for a brief moment because then your dad's pulling up in the pick up zone and jumping out the car, running to you with excitement in his eyes and picking you up in a bear hug. You giggle, unable to move your arms as they're stuck to your side and spare a glance at Brittany who grins back at you right away.

"Dad," you breathe, still laughing and ignoring the way your cheeks are hurting. The combination of Brittany being here and you seeing your family again is making you smile so widely, but it's totally killing the muscles in your cheeks. "Dad, put me down."

Your dad does as he's told and lowers you, grabbing your biceps and holding you in place, eyes roaming over your body. "I've missed you so much, baby girl," he says and pulls you into another tight hug.

You laugh again and peer over to your left to Brittany, suddenly realizing you need to introduce them. "Uh, dad?" You say and he releases you, so you step back and move to Brittany's side, resisting the strange urge that shoots down your arm to grab her hand. Your dad's eyes flicker between you, like he's trying to figure out who she is but you cough, clear your throat and then say, "This is my—erm, my.. my _friend_, Brittany."

Brittany, for her part, smiles immediately and steps forward, holding out her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Lopez."

Your dad looks down at her hand, glances at you and you sigh because you know what's coming. And just like you expected, your dad gently swats Brittany's hand away and tugs her into an embrace, wrapping his burly arms around her shoulders and crushing her face into his chest. Your face instantly breaks out into a grin, and you really want to warn Brittany that this isn't going to be the first time it happens but you're just too busy grinning at your dad as he takes a good look over Brittany after he pushes out from the hug.

"It's lovely to meet you, Brittany," he says with a genuine smile and then glances at her bag. "But please, call me George." His eyes flick over her head. "And would you like me to take your bags?"

She looks behind her at the bags resting by your legs. "Uh, no, it's fine, thank you, Mr—_George," _she corrects. "I can—"

"Nonsense," your dad cuts in and waves her off, brushing past her to pick up her bags. "This is how we welcome people in our family."

He throws the strap of Brittany's carry on over his shoulder then picks up her larger bag up with his hand, and you stare at him when he heads back to the car.

"Yo, dad?" You call out, frowning down at your bags. "What about my bags?"

George doesn't stop, just lifts his free hand in the air. "You have arms, Santana," he points out and Brittany giggles so you shoot her a playful yet sharp look.

Still, you grunt and reluctantly pick up your own bags, heading over to the car with Brittany beside you.

/

Your dad opens the passenger side door for you after all of yours and Brittany's bags are inside the car. He gives you a smile and nods before rounding the car, but you just stare at the door because you always get in the front... But now you've got Brittany with you and you're kind of torn. On one hand you don't want to break tradition and sit in the back because that means you'll miss your quick catch up conversation you have every year with your dad, but on the other hand, you want to sit with Brittany.

"Uh, dad?" You say and lean in a little. "I'm gonna sit in the back with Britt."

Your dad's eyes flick to the backseat where Brittany's sitting and staring at you quizzically, but you just lift a shoulder to answer a question unasked. "Okay," he agrees and you shut the door before sliding into the backseat.

The car engine growls as your dad starts it, and you buckle yourself in and find blue eyes on you when your finish. You're not sure why, so you shoot her an expression that asks but she just gives you a soft smile and shakes her head in response. You're a little confused, but you go with it and about two minutes into your journey, you're glancing out the window when you feel a curious warmth cover the back of your hand and you whip your head around to find Brittany's hand, settling over yours where it lies in the middle of the seat.

You didn't even know your hand was lying there, but you guess it was just something you did without conscious thought and instead of questioning it, you just tilt your chin up your eyes follow the trail of her profile, over the shape of her lips and nose, as she stares out the window, pointedly not glancing back at you. Though you see the way her lips curve up into the warmest of smiles and you know she knows you're watching her; so you just take look back out to the blurring city outside as you flip your palm and tangle your fingers together.

Her head turns, eyes flitting to you, but you just keep on staring out the window with a smile growing across your face.

/

You probably should have explained to Brittany that you not only have like, a billion cousins, but that the eldest ones are boys and are just reaching the age where they're becoming sexual beings, or going through the horny boy syndrome that comes with puberty, and therefore they check out and drool over any hot girl that looks at them.

But you didn't and so when you arrive at the house and your dad tells you he'll get you and Brittany's bags and you should go in, you open the front door and are instantly bombarded by the three eldest cousins, Roman, Franco and Diego, with wide eyes that are searching for Brittany. You're not sure how they know you're not alone, but you think that the text your dad tried to sneakily send when you were buckling yourself into the car at the airport, was probably the one telling your mom you had someone with you. Which no doubt means everyone's going to jump to the conclusion that she's your girlfriend.

Great.

"Where is she?" Roman demands, and you glare at him because he's such a freaking pervert. Behind him, Franco and Diego all laugh and rock on to the balls of their feet as if that'll help see Brittany.

"Shut up", you growl and he grins at you before hugging you.

"No, but really," he says over your shoulder. "Where is she? Is she hot?"

You pull out and give him a dead look, but it's at that moment that Brittany glides in through the door with sweeping golden locks, bright blue eyes and a smile that could light up the entire town. You hear all three boys inhale sharply, and you roll your eyes as you take a step back to her, feeling the protective instinct to wrap your arm around her. Though you don't, because you're already going to have a hard time explaining that you brought a _friend, _so you dig your hands back into your pockets and square your shoulders.

"Roman, Franky, D," you address the boys and let your eyes slide to Brittany. "This is Brittany."

Roman, of course, is the first one to step up and takes Brittany's hand, lowering himself and pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "Enchanté, Mademoiselle," he draws out and you lift an eyebrow, thoroughly unimpressed.

"You're Hispanic, not French, _idiota_," you hiss and Roman throws you a smirk before kissing Brittany's hand again and pulling back up, still clutching Brittany's hand. Brittany just giggles, a blush covering her face and when you notice that he's literally two seconds away from drooling, you smack him round the side of the head and he groans, clutching the side of the head and dropping Brittany's hand simultaneously.

Deciding that you don't want Diego and Franco to cream in their pants if they shake Brittany's hand—they're the youngest at fourteen, Roman's sixteen—you decide to take over and sweep your hand out, gesturing to them. "Those two are Diego and Franco," you monotone and then curl your upper lip as you glance at Roman. "And you've had the pleasure of meeting Roman, already."

"It's nice to meet you," Brittany says, politely, glancing over all three boys with a smile.

All of them just stare, mouths open and eyes wide and you give them exactly three seconds of leering—God knows you only leer enough at her—before you grab Brittany by the hand and gently lead her away and through the house.

"Go help your uncle with the bags," you yell and they all groan but then you hear your dad call out exactly the same thing and they disappear out the front door.

Then you lead Brittany down the hallway and through the living room, slowing a little when you get there because you know how Brittany likes to take in her surroundings from the first time she came to your apartment. She spent about half an hour trailing her fingers over the spines of the books in your bookcase, glancing over your DVD's and then peering at your pictures before she turned to you and said she liked your apartment. It's not something that you think is rude; you just know that Brittany understands things better with physical touch and so you let her do it briefly here. After all, you still need to find your mom.

"Is this you?" Brittany asks, pointing to a small frame on the bookcase.

You step up to it, tilting your head to the side and laugh to yourself, a little embarrassed because, yeah, it is you, but it's also a six-year-old version who's holding a wooden spoon in her hand and crying at it. "Uh, yeah," you confirm, rubbing the back of your neck with your free hand and scrunching up your face. "I had a... phobia."

Blue eyes flick to you, amusement flashing across them. "Of wooden spoons?" She asks, and you can tell she's going to tease you for months to come.

"It's a legitimate thing," you try to defend, but your face is flooding with heat. "And I wasn't scared of them as much, I was just... I didn't like them."

Brittany's face splits into a grin and she chuckles, stepping closer and hooking a finger through one of your belt loops, the back of her hand brushing against the small slither of skin showing between your jeans and shirt. "Well, I think it's cute," she says, ducking her head a little and staring you in the eye. "But I've gotta ask, are you still scared of them now?"

You shake your head, letting out a chortle. "Definitely not," you reply. "It lasted until I was thirteen and then I realized how irrational it was."

"Yeah, it is kind of," she agrees, wrinkling her nose.

And you have an overwhelming urge to kiss her because you haven't today and it's kind of killing you, but it's at that moment that your mom calls your name and seconds later, she's popping up in the doorway leading to the kitchen and you and Brittany step away from each other quickly, putting a gap between you. You know your mom just came in so she wouldn't have seen anything, but when you glance at her and smile, finding her eyes flicking between you and Brittany for a brief second, you know she's got the wrong end of the stick.

"Hey," you breathe and gulp. "Mom, this is Brittany," you decide to introduce them straight away, to clear up anything your mom might have assumed. "My best friend."

Your mom walks slowly toward you two, a smirk on her face but she lets her eyes linger on you for a split second longer before wrapping finally settling her vision on Brittany. The warm, motherly smile you're so accustomed to spreads across her face and she wordlessly takes Brittany's hand, cupping it between hers and patting the back of it gently. You tilt your head to the side, frowning because you're sure you've told your mom about Brittany before—you have been friends for four years—but now your mom's staring at her like this is the first time she's heard of her.

"Erm, mom?" You try to nudge her with words to say something. You can see the slightly shift in Brittany's body and how she's unsure of what's going on. You two are in the same boat.

"It's so lovely to _finally_ meet you, Brittany," your mother says and you narrow your eyes. Why is she saying it like that? "I'm Maribel. I'm sure Santana _hasn't_ mentioned me," she adds a little dryly, her eyes flicking to you.

"Actually she has, Mrs. Lopez," Brittany retorts, softly, and you look at her. Have you? "She said you were the best mom and I think she might just be right."

Your mom giggles and blushes, waving Brittany off and you smile at Brittany because you don't even know if you have told her about your mom but fuck, she's just got you in your mom's good books and that's pretty hard to do. Plus you know your mom already likes Brittany and it creates this weird warmth in your stomach that your family's accepted Brittany. It's not surprising considering you've never met a person who_ didn't_ instantly like her, but it's different now it's your _family_.

And so you just stare for a little, a smile growing across your face as you watch your mom and Brittany interact and you swear you've never seen anything better; you don't know why you didn't introduce them before.

"Did you hear that, Santana?"

Shit.

"Huh?" You ask, a little lost, your eyes darting from left to right. "What?"

"I was just saying to Brittany how we have a guest room she can sleep in for the next two nights," your mother elaborates and your eye twitches a little. You don't like that at all.

"She's my best friend," you try to change her mind and let your eyes meet Brittany's for the briefest of moments. "We've slept in the same bed before and the guest room is kind of noisy."

"Yeah, well we all know what you were doing with your other 'friends' back in high school."

You twirl around, finding your dad standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and a knowing look on his face and grimace. He has a point; whenever you used to bring home a hook-up from a party you'd always use the 'friend' excuse to get her to stay over and regardless of whether your mom gave you the open door policy, somehow you and your 'friend' would end up having sex. Most of the time you closed it to, it was technically still _open_, and you always did your thing beneath the covers anyway.

That's so not the point though.

"I said_ best friend_, not friend," you deadpan and lift an eyebrow. "And that was back in _high school_."

Brittany's hiding a smirk through sucked in lips when you glance back at her, but you don't let your eyes stray for too long because you can also feel your parents vision on you.

"Still, you two are sleeping in separate rooms. Just in case," your mother tells you and your mouth opens but Brittany cuts you off.

"That's fine, Mrs. Lopez. But, really, Santana and I are just best friends," she reassures with a small nod and your stomach drops at her words. "I can appreciate your concerns though so I'd love to stay in the guest room."

Your mom sighs a little and presses a hand over her heart, staring at Brittany with a soft smile. "You're so wonderful," she mutters and you look around as if to say_ is this really happening?_ Brittany just shoots her a dazzling grin and squeezes her hand. "And we'll take your bags up to your room, and Santana?" You snap your eyes up to meet faded brown ones. "Go and introduce Brittany to the rest."

You're flipped off with a wave of her hand and you jerk your head back, not quite getting how your mom went from saying all that _'I'm gonna see my baby!'_ on the phone last weekend to completely dismissing you and worshiping Brittany instead. Although you do suppose that Brittany's pretty damn wonderful and you know when you met her for the first time at training for your job at the coffee shop, you completely forgot that you were supposed to be talking to Quinn who you'd met ten minutes earlier and instantly connected with, and instead focused on Brittany.

So you can't really blame your mom. You know how she feels.

"Okay," you say and beckon Brittany over with a tilt of your head. When she gets to your side you shove your hands in your own pocket to stop from reaching out and holding her hand and walk through to the back yard to find your other four cousins and your aunt and uncle sitting there.

And just like Brittany did with your mom and dad, she completely dazzles your relatives and five minutes after introducing her to them, your uncle's offering his chair (which believe is a_ big_ deal for his fat ass) and your youngest cousins, four-year old Bella and five-year old Rico, are climbing on to Brittany's lap, taking a leg each, and staring at her in awe as Brittany and your aunt, Marcella, converse above.

You just sit down on the decking, kicking your feet our in front of you and watch her again because really, she's kind of amazing.

/

After dinner all the family sits down in the living room in various places, you and Brittany squashed into the armchair by the fire, and your family seems completely enamored by Brittany. They asked her questions about her life, where she grew up, what her parents do and even you learn a few things. You listen intently, making sure to note every single tidbit of information down that you didn't know—although there isn't a lot because Brittany's your best friend so you basically know everything, _duh_—and you smile and subtly urge her on with a dip of your head and a warm smile when she glances at you, scared that she's talking too much.

You don't think she could every talk too much.

Though soon enough, your younger cousins are dropping off against their parents shoulders and you're about two seconds away from tearing Roman a new one as you've actually caught him drooling once or twice, and so your mom claps her hands and says it's time for bed. You kind of feel like a teenager, but you have to admit you're a little tired and so you and Brittany let your aunt and uncle put your youngest cousins to bed, then your elder ones, before you and Brittany head on up.

Your hands bump on the way up the stairs, and you steal shy glance at one another out the corners of your eye as you make your way to the guest room, or Brittany's room, as you'll call it for the rest of the weekend. When you get there, you stand outside the off-white door and turn to her, unsure of whether you should be showing her around or just dropping her off at the door.

"So this is you," you say, gesturing to the door with a turn of the head.

Brittany takes in a deep breath and you both stand there, hesitating for a few moments; even though neither of you really know why. The hallway light isn't on and it's only illuminated by the bathroom door being open and the light shining through, but you can still see her eyes and the happiness behind them like it's daylight.

"Thanks," she finally breathes, breaking the silence. "And Santana I... I really like your family. They're pretty great," she adds through a chuckled exhale, twisting her torso from side to side a little. "I can see where you get it from now."

You let out a short laugh and scratch your eyebrow to hide the bashful smile on your face. "Yeah, well thanks, but, um," you look up, meet her eye. "I'm one hundred percent sure they love you and that you're not going to get out of this house ever again."

She giggles and you join in for a moment, but then it dies down and you're just left staring at each other, clearly not wanting to part but knowing you probably should. It is late after all.

"So, I'm gonna go off to my room," you thumb over your shoulder, not really to anywhere in particular. "Night, Britt."

Nothing inside of you wants to leave, but you turn away, taking two steps before long fingers wrap around your wrist and you sigh at the touch, relief flooding through you because you knew she didn't want you to leave just yet either. Still though, you act like you don't know why she's pulling you back and peer back over your shoulder, eyebrows lifted by your hairline

"Yeah?"

"Wi—" she starts, but quickly shuts it off, closing her eyes, twisting her face up and shaking her head. "Where's your room?" She asks, finally opening her eyes again.

You lips begin curving up at the side, eyes impulsively boring into hers. "The one opposite the bathroom," you reply without hesitation.

Brittany nods and sucks in her lips, her hand never dropping yours. She doesn't say a word after that, just offers a small nod and you know it's because if she says something then she'll come out with something more and you're not sure if you're happy or not about that. On one hand, you want to just grab her by the shoulders and shake it out of her, because you don't know how you feel and you don't know how she feels either and even a single word would bring some clarity to the situation; but on the other hand, you know that this is simple and easy, sleeping with her and not even thinking about feelings, and so you kind of don't want her to.

You don't want to mess up the dynamic set between you.

So without another word, you offer her a half-smile that you know doesn't reach your eyes and turn away, walking down the hall and pausing at your door, flicking your vision back down the way you just came to find Brittany still lingering by her door, staring at you.

And the moment feels significant. You can feel a dip in the atmosphere, you can feel the heavy beating of your heart and rapid upbeat of your breathing, but you just clench your jaw, squint your eyes and pull your eyebrows together because you don't know why or _what's_ significant about this moment. You don't fucking know why because it's just you two staring at each other, standing by your separate bedroom doors with a space between you, but Brittany's just gazing back at you, no confusion whatsoever on her face, instead a slight curve of the right side of her lip and you tilt your head because it feels like you're the only one not really knowing what's going on here.

"Night, Santana," Brittany hushes after holding your eye for three more seconds.

She disappears through the door soon after, closing it and you wait until you hear the click of the door shutting before you push through your own door, leaning back against it when you kick it to and you just wind up staring at your bed, suddenly finding yourself intimidated by the space you'll have to yourself tonight. And for a second, for a split fucking second, you consider going back to Brittany's room, sneaking into bed with her and just fall asleep with no questions asked.

But you know you can't.

Instead you strip down to your boxers and bra, switch the lights off and climb into bed, choosing to lie there for hours and hours on end, listening to the slight scratching of the oak tree on the window and wondering why you'd even_ want_ to sneak into Brittany's room and sleep beside her if there was no chance of sex. Just because you and her are best friends with benefits or whatever, doesn't mean that you should sleep next to each other every night, even if for the majority of these four and a half months you two have slept together as you usually hook up at night, you two have.

And it's not like you _need_ to sleep next to her, it's just that you like it. Not in the way you like having sex because it gives _you_ something, but in the way you like visiting your family, because it feels good in a whole other way.

Still though, you refuse to sneak into her room and after another forty minutes of thinking, sleep finally comes over you.

But little did you know, the exact same thoughts were going through someones head a few doors down.

/

The next day the rest of your family arrives. Your abuela and abuelo come, your second cousins (who are basically your first cousins you're that close) as well your other set of first cousins and their parents (your aunt and uncle) and then a few other family members that you're pretty sure aren't blood related, but they're as close as family so whatever, you're not going to question it. You introduce Brittany and they all greet her with a smile and when she begins talking, you literally see the hearts form in their eyes.

You really don't know how she does it.

After all the introductions and the swift process of your family falling in love with Brittany, your mom ushers you all out of the living room and out on to the decking, telling you to stay as she's cooking lunch for you all. You offer to help her, but she just smiles and tells you to get out some board games and start the tradition, and you _might_ roll your eyes and you _might_ throw a slight tantrum, and Brittany_ might_ give you a look and you _might_ give in and say that you'll do it with a smile on your face after Brittany bumps your shoulders together and grins, but that's only a _might_.

Nope. That definitely happened but you're going to pretend like it didn't.

Anyway, you're all sitting outside playing Monopoly and you're all split into teams. Your two youngest cousins, the ones that came yesterday, are with your aunt and uncle; your elder cousins, Roman, Franco and Diego are playing together; your godmother and godfather are playing as a team; and then you've got your second cousins split into two lots and finally there's your abuelao and abuela together, then you and Brittany together, too.

As there are so many people around the small board, you and Brittany sit tightly side by side, your leg hooked around her back and your other lying curled up, your kneecap pressed into the top side of her thigh. You know it's a little strange to be sitting like this, but you've got Roman, Franco and Diego all_ still_ drooling over Brittany and you knew Brittany was feeling a little uncomfortable after Roman told her if she rolled three doubles she'd go straight to his pants, so you twisted and sat like this, which made all your cousins glance away, made your aunt slap Roman round the head and made Brittany more comfortable. So it was a win-win situation really.

(Brittany also blushed and ducked her chin to her chest as you pressed into her side, but so what? It's not like you've never cuddled before and so you just ignored it and carried on with the game.)

Though after an intense property buying session by Brittany, you decide you're thirsty and so you lean in, careful not to disturb any of the other gamers and let your lips hover by her ear. "Do you want a drink?"

She turns her head, the tips of your noses touching, you're_ that_ close and you feel the breath catch in your throat as your eyes dart between each of hers. "Yes, please," she whispers and you pause momentarily, stunned by the small silver flecks in her eyes.

"Are you gonna be okay here?" You continue through a whisper.

In response, Brittany grins and you don't look away or make any sign of moving, but you're swiftly kicked back into action when you take note of the smirk spreading across her face. So you fake the need to clear your throat and give her a small smile before you shift away, head turning and vision dropping down to the Monopoly board as you begin moving to your feet, dusting the back of your jeans off as you walk away from the circle.

You can feel your eyes on you the entire way into the kitchen, and even when you're closing the door behind you and disappearing out of sight, leaning against the wall opposite to take a breather, you can feel the gaze burning into the back of your mind. You're not sure whether you like that or not.

"You okay, mija?"

You jump a little, your eyes finding your mom standing by the stove. You sort of forgot she was here. "Huh? Yeah, I'm fine. Just..." you blink and shake your head, moving to the cupboard above the sink. "I'm just getting Britt and I a drink."

The room goes silent apart from the sound of your mom moving around and continuing with making the lunch, and as you grab two glasses and head to the fridge to grab the orange juice (without pulp – Brittany doesn't like pulp) you realize that there's another pair of eyes on you now, ones that definitely _aren't_ Brittany's and glance to find your mom staring at you.

"What?" You ask, a little self-conscious. Did you sit on something outside? How embarrassing.

"Nothing," you mom replies, lifting a shoulder and getting back to peeling the potatoes. You go back to pouring the orange juice and putting two ice cubes in the glass, just like Brittany likes it, but you can feel your mom wanting to say something more and just wait silently. You're not going to beg her to say it because you think you know what she's going to say, and you still don't know how you feel about the subject.

So you just take your time, your movements slower than usual and when you're finally grasping the two glasses of orange juice in hand, you head toward the back door again and your mom finally speaks.

"Brittany's a nice girl," she comments and you know she's trying to be nonchalant about it but it's really_ not_ working.

You spin around on your feet, nodding and meeting your mothers faded brown eyes as she lowers the potato peeler and potato and braces her palms down on the kitchen island in front of her.

"Yeah, she is," you agree because well, it's _Brittany_. Nice is an understatement. Amazing, wonderful, fantastic, all that follow in fact, would be better adjectives to describe her. "Hence why she's my best friend."

Your mother wets her lips, her head bobbing but you can tell she's thinking more and so you shift your weight from your right leg to your left and wait it out. You knew it was going to come sooner or later.

"Is she_ just_ your best friend?" Your mom's eyebrow quirks up in the same way yours always does when you're curious or suspicious.

You just let out a short laugh through your nose and nod, biting your tongue because you're afraid something else might spill from your mouth. Your mom's face twists, lips pressing together and eyebrows furrowing and you know that's not the answer she wanted because you've seen that look before when she finds something out that she didn't want to hear. Like back when you were in high school and came out; she told you not to let anyone try to tear you down with their cruel words and you ended up kicking the crap out of a homophobic jock and getting a three-week suspension.

Still, you and Brittany_ are_ just _friends_. Best friends in fact, and you may sleep together and she may be here, but you would've invited her to come even if you two weren't having sex.

(You think.)

So you just wait it out, not trusting yourself with words at this current moment and your mom holds your eyes, narrowing them further and further until they're basically closed, for a good two minutes before she sighs heavily, looking back to the potato and the peeler as she picks them up and starts on that again.

"Okay, mija," she finally decides on and you want to ask her more, you want to stay here because you know she has more to say; but there's still that part of you—however large, you don't know—that doesn't want to bring it up at all because it'll pose more questions than it does answers. That's not what you want for you and Brittany; you don't want to have to question everything you do because then it gets more complicated.

You two are having sex and that's it. You're just two best friends who enjoy each others company and enjoy spending some of your time spent together panting against each others mouths as you try to reach your climaxes. It's that simple.

"Okay," you breathe out and wordlessly push open the door, heading back out to the decking to join the rest of your family again.

With difficulty, you manage to settle down in the same position as before when you get to Brittany, one leg hooked behind her back whilst the other rests by her side, and you nudge your nose against her shoulder as you have no hands to catch her attention. She whips her head around almost immediately, a dazzling grin spreading across her face and you find yourself mirroring it as you hand over her orange juice, your fingers brushing and sparks flying at the touch.

"It's got two ice cubes and no pulp," you inform her, not sure why you're doing that as she can tell both of those things simply by peering into the glass.

Still, she reacts, her eyes and face softening at your words, almost like she can't believe you remembered that's the way she likes her drink, and you just shrug as if to say _it's nothing_ as you bring your cup to your lips and take a sip. Though you almost spit it out and spray it all over the Monopoly board you're facing because as your vision flits back to it, your hand lowering your cup back down to the decking behind you, Brittany leans forward and kisses you on the cheek, her lips warm and soft against your skin, before she sets her own cup down and gets back to the game.

But not without tugging your hand on to her lap and running her fingertips gently over your palm as Ramon and his team of little perverts get sent to jail.

And you can't help but think back to what ran through your mind when you were in the kitchen with your mom. But no, you're just being silly.

You and Brittany are definitely just best friends.

_Just_ best friends.

/

**Eeeek I love writing this! Drop me a review if you feel up to it please :)**


	10. Chapter 9

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Nine]  
**Rating: **NC-17**  
****Length: **6.7k

**Notes: **No but really, your feedback on this is INCREDIBLE. My beta also told me that she's LOVING this fic but I'm working alone on this cos it's a nice little surprise for her; so that does explain any errors and stuff cos I read over it once or twice but then give up. Thank you anyway guys and hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Do not own anything to do with anything.

/

When your mom gets the photo albums out after lunch, you almost die of embarrassment. The rest of your family go on a walk to the beach, but you and Brittany said you'd stay to help clear up and you finished a lot faster than you thought so here you are.

Your mom's sitting beside Brittany on the sofa, flicking through the pages and holding up the book when an incredibly embarrassing one comes up to bring more attention to it and as you're sitting beside Brittany, you just bury your face into her shoulder and groan because you're _so _embarrassed. You can't even ask your mom to stop because you know this isn't the _most _humiliating photo album and if you mention putting it away, you're running the risk of your mom getting the others out.

"And here she is in the bath..." Your mom points to a small picture of you in the top corner of the album.

A two-year old version of you is sitting with the water up to your waist, bubbles _all _over your body and a small little curl flicked up at the front of your head as you shoot a toothless grin toward the camera. You let out a loud groan again, and Brittany just giggles as she traces the pad of her finger over the photo, taking in it.

"San, you look so cute," she comments and you press your forehead against her shoulder, shaking your head.

"No, I don't," you muffle into her skin. "It's embarrassing."

Brittany just giggles and you feel the blood rush to your cheeks, making you blush as your mom flicks through more photos revealing your first day of elementary school and your first day of high school.

You're wearing the most atrocious outfit in the second one, with high socks, a big green baggy jumper and yellow shorts finishing above the knee, and you really want to ask your mom why the hell she'd let you wear that to your _first day _at high school; but then you suppose when that douchebag, Karofsky, mocked your outfit ten minutes into your first day, you punched him straight in the nose and earned your fearsome reputation, it wasn't too bad. You earmed your fearsome reputation that day.

Plus, you never wore an outfit like that again.

"And here she is at seven years old," your mom continues and holds the album up to Brittany to reveal an entire page full of you in various superhero outfits. You begin laughing, because you'd totally forgotten about that time of you life, but when you see the bottom right hand corner picture, the laughter quickly disappears because you know your mom isn't going to pass up this opportunity to embarrass you further.

"And this is when we got George to make a hole in the pipe outside the house," your mom starts, her finger tapping the picture of you standing by a leaking pipe outside your old house in Lima, pointing at it with a grin. "Because Santana was so upset that she didn't have superpowers that we thought we could pretend like she did."

Brittany begins giggling and for what feels like the millionth time, you blush and duck your chin to your head. "You could've at least set a fire or something," you mumble. "Creating holes in water pipes isn't exactly a superpower."

"It was a superpower none-the-less," your mother defends and waves her hand. "And clearly you were happy with it so I see no problem."

Brittany bumps your shoulders together lightly, and you pick your head up to look her in the eye, the sparkling blue making something in your chest flutter. "Don't worry," she whispers and scrunches up her nose at you adorably. "I think it's cute."

You're so embarrassed, but instead of hiding it this time you just let her see the blush that covers your cheeks. You're not even sure if she can really see it as ethnic people don't blush, but damn, you don't even care. In fact, now she's said that, you've got this warm tingling feeling thrumming through your body and there's a tug in the center of your chest that makes you want to do something; so you do. Beneath the photo album now resting on Brittany's lap, you slide your hand between yours and hers thighs and grip at her hand, your fingers fumbling around until you can finally slide your fingers through hers.

She beams at you at the gesture, her eyes sparkling blue and teeth pearly and white as they're shown through a grin, and you just grin idiotically back, feeling like you two are alone in this moment. You kind of wish you were, actually. You haven't kissed her since before you left for the airport yesterday morning and you know you almost did yesterday when you were saying goodnight, and she totally kissed you on the cheek this morning, but it's not satisfying your needs. You just want to feel her lips pressed against yours, maybe taste the faint tinge of her strawberry lip gloss and you want to giggle against her mouth as she pushes harder into you because you know she wants to kiss you, too.

But you can't. There are a million reasons why you can't and so instead, you just settle for shifting a little closer and squeezing her hand as you both go back to looking over the humiliating photos of your youth.

You don't realize that your mom was watching you the entire time.

/

A little later on, all your family comes home and you greet them all again. Bella and Rico climb on to Brittany's lap and you sit beside her, your fingers still tangled and hidden in the space between your thighs and your family tell you about the walk. Apparently they headed down to the beach, watched a few people on jet-skis and (the adults) had cocktails on the sand, and as they explain, you watch Brittany's face light up with excitement. You know she wants to go, she was excited when you first asked her to come and now all you can think is how you're depriving her from exploring Miami because you offered to stay back and help your mom clear up.

God, you're stupid. You want to go and explore with her.

So when your aunt, Marcella, asks you what you and Brittany are going to do for the rest of the evening, you look over to her and smile and say, "We were thinking about heading down to the beach."

Roman's face crinkles where he's sitting on the floor opposite Brittany. "Why didn't you just come with us then?" He asks in a demeaning tone.

Though your aunt's right there, slapping him around the back of the head and making him hiss and rub at the sore spot furiously. "Maybe they want some alone time," Marcella interjects and shares an understanding smile with you and Brittany. "We get that."

You want to say that that's not the reason, but then Brittany's squeezing your hand and nodding, and well, you can't argue with that. You kind of _do _want some alone time with Brittany because you haven't had any since you got here, and really, you're kind of craving it. It's slightly worrying, actually. You don't know what you'd do if you couldn't have alone time with her for a long period of time; you think you'd explode.

"You two should head out then if you wanna go," your uncle chimes in with a wink. "I hear that sunset is pretty damn beautiful."

You let out a small laugh and meet Brittany's eye, silently offering if she wants to. She gets that, and you ignore the warmth you get in your chest because she can tell what you're thinking with a single glance, and she nods, dropping your hand as you stand. You want to reach out and grab it again, to help Rico and Bella off her lap and then help her up, but you have a feeling that your aunt knows you two were holding hands if the pinched lips to hide a smile thing on her face is anything to go by; so instead you beat down that urge and shove your hands in your pockets. Best friends, remember?

"Okay, well we're gonna go then," you say and Brittany climbs to her feet, smoothing out the front of her skirt.

All of your family say goodbye, Roman throwing Brittany a wink instead of saying goodbye and you snarl at him fiercely as you press your hand to her lower back, guiding her out the living room and toward the front door. You open it for her, and she bashfully ducks her head as you gesture for her to go through first and mutters a small, "thank you" and you might kind of sort of watch her ass as she walks in front of you. What? You're only human and that is a wonderfully short skirt.

Anyway, when you close the front door behind you, you forget to put your hands back in your pockets and Brittany takes the opportunity to grab one of them, only clutching your hand and not bothering to tangling your fingers together. You're not sure why that bothers you, but you just prefer laced fingers instead of just hand holding but whatever, you like the feel of this so you're not going to complain. It's better than nothing.

"_Where are you two going?"_

You and Brittany stop halfway down the pathway, peering over your shoulders to find your dad out on the drive, washing his car. It's a sports car of some type, with a soft top, but you're not entirely sure of the make. All you know is that he's had it since before you were born and he's in love with that damn car. He used to tell you all about it all the time as a kid, and you think it's a racing car judging by the stripe running down the middle of the bonnet, but you don't really know; still though, it was nice to be able to talk about something with him.

"We're going to the beach," you explain and gently tug Brittany with you as you walk over to your dad. "It'll be nicer without those other idiots."

Brittany bumps your arm with her own, as if to scald you but she's giggling and so you can't take that seriously.

"You got a point there," your dad says, finishing the last of the wax on the bonnet then wiping his hands on his grease covered jeans. "But it's a bit of a walk."

You spare a glance at Brittany. "We don't mind."

"Why don't you take this baby?" He knocks his knuckles gently against the side of the car. "She needs drying off."

Your eyes widen and you freeze because no-one, and that's literally _no-one, _apart from your dad has ever even _touched _that damn car. You remember when you were nine and you accidentally kicked a rock on to the side of it, making the smallest of scratches, your dad was so pissed he took away your toy bear, Humphrey, for a whole week. That might not seem like a major punishment, but you and that bear were attached at the hip and you cried for hours on end when he took that away.

That was a sad time.

Your eyes slide to the left and you silently ask Brittany if she wants to take the car, and she just grins and nods frantically, grabbing the hand she's holding with her other one and bouncing a little in excitement. You take that as a yes.

"Really?" You ask, your voice pitching because you're sure he's fucking with you.

"Of course," he confirms with a bob of his head and dries his hands on his jeans before heading over to you, grabbing the keys out his pocket. "But only on one condition." You and Brittany nod. "You treat this car as if it were a woman." Both you and Brittany burst into laughter, and your dad slowly joins in, clapping you on the shoulder as he pushes the keys into you hand. "I'm serious, though," he continues, calming down a little but keeping a grin on his face. "Treat her good."

"I will, papi," you reply and lean in to kiss him on the cheek before you pull Brittany to the passenger side.

You and Brittany both jump into the car, buckling yourselves up and you grin, tapping your foot excitedly as you switch on the engine because _fuck, _you may not be interested in cars but this is one fine ass car. You've always dreamed of having a convertible sports car and man, does it feel good to be able to drive one. Especially with a really fucking gorgeous blonde sitting beside you, beaming with excitement and bouncing in her seat.

"Remember! Be careful!"

You flash your dad a grin and pull out the drive, cutting through Miami with the top down, the wind blowing through your hair and a pair of bright blue eyes locked on to your profile.

Life's pretty fucking good.

/

You park the car a few streets away from the beach, deciding it's too nice not to walk.

When you get to the beach, there are still quite a lot of people as it's only mid-afternoon and so you just choose to walk along the promenade, taking in your surroundings. You stop when you get to an ice cream van and buy both of you one as apparently Brittany loves those swiftly soft ones with chocolate flakes and you're just too weak to resist her batting lashes and pout. Damn it. She really is the most adorable thing you've ever known. And that fucking includes micro pigs.

With your ice-creams in hands, you continue walking along the promenade and a few minutes later, you catch the devilish glint in Brittany's eye when you spare at a glance at her. You're instantly curious, your feet stopping and eyebrows knitting together and you almost ask her, _almost _being the key word because one second you're staring at her with confusion and the next, she's smearing ice-cream on your face and running away, giggling loudly to herself.

The sting of the temperature sets in first and you tense, your hand releasing your own ice cream on to the ground, but then you kick yourself into gear and begin sprinting after her. She's fast, she's got the legs to run, but you're shorter and you used to sprint back in high school for the running team. So you catch up with her easily, wrapping your arm around her waist and tackling her on to the sand to your right, Brittany screeching through her laughter. The air's sucked from your lungs as you land on top of her, but you're both still giggling and you roll off to the space beside her, closing your eyes at the bright sunlight piercing your eyes.

"How am I the one," you start, breathing in deeply. "That gets winded when I tackled _you?_" You finish with a grunt, clutching at your stomach with one hand but wiping at the corners of your eyes with the other.

Brittany giggles some more, crunching up a little and you turn your hand, your cheek pressing into the warm sand. You're sure there are people looking at you two strangely because not only are you lying down on the sand in full clothes, but you're also _right _next to the promenade. It's not like you give a crap though. Not when Brittany's turning to stare at you with twinkling blue eyes and the softest of expressions.

"Because I'm just awesome," she retorts with a cheeky grin and your shoulders start bobbing as you chuckle. "And San?" She interjects and reaches over to your face, letting the tip of her finger hovering over your nose. "You've got a little somethin' there."

You shoot her a playful glare. "Well get it off then," you dare and she lifts an eyebrow.

"I don't have anything to wipe it off with."

You haven't been able to flirt with her openly for a while so you just go for it. "You usually lick ice cream so get to it."

Brittany giggles, rolls her eyes and rolls on to her back and your heart sinks with disappointment for a split second because you think she isn't going to respond to your flirting. Except barely seconds later, she's rolling on top of you, her knees bracketing your hips and she's lowering her head, flicking her tongue over your chin, over your lips and over the tip of your nose. You shudder, your hands shooting to her hips and you're so caught up with whether to focus on the shot of arousal that surges through your or the ticklish feeling of Brittany's warm tongue after the cold ice cream, that you just end up giggling to yourself and thrashing your head from the side to side.

"Okay, okay," you chant, breathlessly, but Brittany begins licking over your cheek and giggling against your skin. "Okay! Stop! I give up!" She sits back, wiping the back of her mouth over her wrist and you do the same, scrunching up your nose. "Britt, that was gross."

Brittany offers a wink and pushes up from her knees to her feet, offering a hand. "You challenged me," she retorts and well, yeah, you did.

So you just grin and grab her hand, letting her tug you up until your hands are trapped between your stomachs and you're so close to her you can see the freckles dusted across her nose and the tiny silver flecks in her eyes. And at this distance, in this moment, you can't for the life of you figure out how you never realized just how beautiful she is before you ever slept together. You really don't know because now you can barely even _think _about finding other people attractive because she takes the cake every time. Fuck, she takes every cake, the whole fucking cake shop, and you honest to God think she's the most attractive woman you've _ever _seen.

"Shall we walk?" She asks, breaking you from your thoughts.

You cough, pretending like you weren't staring even though both of you know you were and you don't even drop her hand, just switch it to your other and both of you begin walking along the promenade again.

/

When the sun begins setting, you decide that you want Brittany to see this because, besides her, it's the most beautiful thing that'll happen to this beach.

So you tug her off the promenade, leading her wordlessly down to the water and you urge her to sit down, lowering her by her hand until she's sitting comfortably, her knees bent and feet planted against the sand, her arms wrapped around her shins. You crouch to sit beside her, aiming to press your sides together to keep warm but then you hesitate mid-movement, watching the way she hugs her legs closer and how small goosebumps form over her skin and you realize she's cold. She is only wearing a tank top and a skirt, so that's not really surprising, but still.

"Are you cold?"

She twists her head, only revealing her profile. "A little," she shrugs. "But it's no biggy."

You frown because you hate it when Brittany downplays things; like the time she downplayed how ill she was feeling at work and ended up passing out and knocking her head on the corner of the coffee maker. You had to take her to the ER and she had to have four stitches.

"Britt," you sigh and this time she looks at you. But you don't really know why you said her name so you do the only thing you can think of and step behind her, crouching down and shifting to kick your legs out either side of her body, your butt scooting forward on the sand until your chest is pressed against her back and your arms find a place looped around her waist. And for Brittany's part, she doesn't even still or freeze; just instinctively settles back into you, resting part of her weight on you and stroking the tips of her fingers over the backs of your hands.

It's comforting in a way you didn't think it could be, and you smile to yourself, hiding it, like you need to because you know it means something, by burying your face into her hair and inhaling the sweetness of her fruity shampoo. You feel her shudder a little, the way she tilts her head to the side and you shift your own head, chin resting on her shoulder as your eyes go off to the orange glow of the sun setting.

"It's really beautiful here," Brittany whispers after a moment, inhaling deeply.

Your eyes slide to the left, roaming over the side of her face. "Yeah," you breathe in agreement. "It is beautiful."

The corners of Brittany's lips curve up into the softest of smiles and you settle down against her one more. "I know I've already said this," she starts again. "But your family really are..." she swallows thickly. "They really are amazing."

You smile and nod, because yeah, you may have some annoying relatives—no names mentioned, Roman, Franco and Diego—but you wouldn't change them for the world. You love your family, everyone single one of them; including your Abuelo who lets out gas at the worst times and just sits there smiling smugly. It's one of the best things, you think. You're all just so comfortable with each other and you may not see everyone as much as you want to, but when you're together, you just pick off where you left off. Sure, you get bored, too, but that doesn't mean you don't love them.

Thought it's as those thoughts go through your mind that you realize that Brittany's gone completely silent and she's staring off into the sunset, the glow illuminating her face and making her look like a freaking _angel, _but there's a glaze in her eyes like she's deep in thought, and a solemn expression on her face. And considering you rarely ever seen Brittany with anything but a smile on her face or laughter in her eyes, you begin worrying.

"Britt," you stop and suck in your lips, wondering how to ask her what's wrong without her shutting down. Brittany's usually an open book, but when she's like this, she tends to keep herself to herself. "Not that I don't love that you love my family... but why do you?"

The second the last word leaves your lips, Brittany ducks her head, her chin resting against her chest and her fingertips stopping their movement on your hands. For a second, you freeze, frightened that you've scared her off but then she takes in a deep breath, keeps her eyes dropped to the sand—even though you're sure she's not actually staring at the sand, just staring as her thoughts process—and her arms wrap over her body over yours. You just swallow, awaiting the answer.

"I just love everything about your house and your family," she explains, so soft and so full of emotion that you have to crane your neck to the side to watch the words affect her expression. "This isn't even your home town and somehow it feels like it... It—it _smells _like it," she breathes, tilting her chin and eyes going back out to the horizon. "Like home."

"Actually, Britt, I think that's my Abuelo," you joke. "He tends to eat a lot of Brussels sprouts."

Instantly, Brittany's face brightens up and light laughter passes between you, easing the atmosphere around you. But as you watch her chuckle, you see how the chuckle fades from her eyes and how her expressions slowly drops and your head tilts to the side because you can see it. You've always been able to, better than anyone, and you know there's more than she's saying. So you squeeze her waist, showing her you're here and willing to listen.

And you actually watch her walls fall down at the gesture. You know Brittany doesn't have high walls built around her heart because she's not that kind of person; she's not guarded, she doesn't have trust or daddy issues like—well, like you do, actually—but everyone has certain walls that protect them. It may be over something small, but everyone has them and you know that this is Brittany's. So you just repeat your gesture again and watch her face relax, feel her hands slide over the back of yours, her fingers fitting in the gaps between your own and you feel how she leans back into your touch, eyes closing for the briefest of moments because she's letting her wall down for you.

As a thanks, you do the only thing you know and push your lips down to the bare skin of her shoulder, holding there for a second before pulling back and resting your chin on the spot.

"I just... your mom and dad," she starts, her voice wary. "They just—when they hugged me yesterday... they _really _meant it," her voice croaks a little and you can see her welling up. You lean in and kiss her on the cheek, unable to stop yourself and you feel her grip tighten on her hand. It spurs her to continue. "They didn't even know me," she whispers and you feel like she's almost talking to herself, how her eyebrows crinkle and eyes narrow in disbelief. "I just tagged along with their daughter, with you, and they welcome me like we'd known each other for years," she shrugs and lets out a long exhale, shaking her head and dropping her vision. "I just..." she breathes out again. "Your family's amazing, Santana."

"Even the three little perverts?" You slide in through a smirk and Brittany's body jolts as she laughs.

She leans back further, her whole weight resting on you now and her head falls back on to your shoulder, neck twisting until her forehead's tipping against your cheek, her breath warm against your jaw as you continue to glance out at the sunset. The laughter continues, beating against your skin and you squeeze her hands, but eventually it dies down and you let out a long exhale, tilting your head to rest your head against hers. It feels comfortable, it feels right, and your eyes shut and your lips curve gently as you linger there for a little.

"Even the three little perverts," she confirms and your face lights up again as you both go back to giggling together.

But then there's a chill in the air, a cold gust of wind that sweeps across you and causes specks of sand to dust across your feet and even you shudder, despite you wearing a long sleeve shirt; so you cuddle Brittany closer, your arms tightening around her waist and she moves your hands slightly, your palms curling into light fists, her fingers still tangled through yours so you're clutching her hand in a way that means she can't let go. You don't want to.

"Your family loves you, too," you finally land on because you know she misses her family. You can tell by her tone, and you know that when she told you that you had to come this weekend, that she wanted at least someone to go back to their family.

You also know that despite her talking about her family with a smile, that smile never reaches her eyes. She talks to her family on the phone all the time, but they live in Nebraska and Brittany's a very family orientated girl. Throughout the years of being her friend, you've heard countless stories and you know that she aches to see them. Talking over the phone isn't half as good as seeing them in real life and as you sit here, holding her and wishing that she won't cry, you wonder whether you should've told your family you'd come another weekend and gone to Nebraska with Brittany.

You just want to see her happy. You'd do pretty much anything to make that happen.

"I know," she agrees through a sigh. "I know and I love them, too, but it's just," she pauses and lets her eyes flit up to the sky, almost as if she's trying to find the words there. She chews on her lower lip, tugging it between her teeth and gnawing visibly and you wait it out. You could listen to her all day. "Being here reminded me of all the things I'm missing out on," she explains and your heart clenches. You should've taken her to Nebraska. "Like my sister growing up and graduating... and my dad going into retirement. I just—I forgot what it was like to have people who you love unconditionally around you."

Knitting your eyebrows together, you get impossibly close, her head dropping to your shoulder, temple pressing against the bone. "You have people who love you unconditionally, Britt," you tell her and you see the question flash across her eyes. "Not just your family, but us. Quinn and I. We love you unconditionally."

Brittany chuckles, but you feel something twist in your stomach because you swear it's a bitter chuckle. "I know," she accepts, moving her head a little as if to nod. "And I love you guys, too... but it's just—It's not the same," she breathes and you suddenly find yourself hating yourself for not being able to make her happy. You know you can't, and it's not your job to because you're not her girlfriend, but it's still something you should do as her best friend. You should be able to pick her up when she's feeling down and paint her skies blue when they turn gray. "It's just... Your family," she inhales deeply, the tip of her nose brushing over the side of your neck. "They're incredible."

"So are yours," you fight back without a moment's hesitation. You've met her mom and sister when they came to visit Brittany two summers ago and they were great. They were funny, attractive, kind and caring. Pretty much everything Brittany is; except, in your opinion, Brittany's the best Pierce. "Why don't you go visit them?"

"They're in Nebraska."

You don't see a problem with that. "So? My family is in Miami and we came here. Hell, some of them came for Ohio. We can go see your family in Nebraska."

Brittany pulls her head back immediately, her eyes locking on to your profile and you freeze, realizing what you said. You didn't mean to be so presumptuous by inviting yourself. You just meant that if she wanted you to go with her, you would. Plus she came here so you were just saying. It just sort of slipped out and now you're just staring at the sea, watching the waves lap the shore and you don't know what to say. Should you take it back?

"We?" Brittany finally repeats and you gulp, tearing your vision away from the sunset to meet blue eyes. "You'd come with me?"

It's only now that you realize the softness in her gaze, the curve at the corner of her lips and the appreciation glowing from her expression. So you smile a half-smile, putting warmth and affection and emotion into it. Brittany doesn't need to question whether you'd go or not; you'd do it in a split second. If she wanted you there, you'd be there. There's just something about Brittany that makes you do that. It's almost like you're whipped, but you know you're not because only couples can be whipped. Not best friends.

Or maybe they can. You don't know.

"Of course I would," you whisper and it comes out an octave lower than usual, softer too and you realize how much you meant that.

And you think Brittany catches her breath because she stares at you, sighing softly and biting her bottom lip as your eyes bore into each other, a spark forming between you. You feel the energy flow and you swallow, poking your tongue out to wet your lips before you drop your vision to her lips because you want to kiss her. You want to kiss her so bad and you know she wants to kiss you, too, because you can feel her eyes tracing a path from your collarbone, up your neck, over your jaw and landing on your lips. You can feel her eyes like pinpricks on your skin, tracing over your face and you take a deep, unsteady breath, your throat dry and nerves shot.

But still, you inch forward, lowering your head and you offer yourself out, lips ready to feel hers. You don't want to go the entire way because you don't know if this is okay. You don't know why you've got that mindset because you've never hesitated in kissing her before, but this feels... different.

Though before you can even think further about it, Brittany's craning her neck and her hand's moving away from yours, curling around the nape of your neck, urging you further down until you're kissing her. You stay still for a few moments, just marveling in the feel of her lips warm and soft against yours before Brittany shifts and sucks in your bottom lip. And your lungs take in a sharp inhale at the feel of her lips finally pressed against yours because you've wanted to kiss her so much that it's almost driven you mad, and now you're finally doing it and it feels like everything you wanted.

Your free hand slides across her stomach, fingers wrapping around her waist and fisting the fabric of her shirt, and you hoist her a little further into you, her lips stretching into a lazy smile beneath yours. And even though you're in the most cliché setting, sitting on a beautiful beach with the sun setting behind you, you can't help but feel like this is right. That _Brittany's _right. That you're supposed to be kissing her here.

You can feel the way her fingers slide up to tangle in the hairs at the back of your neck, and the way she pushes harder against your lips when you try away to pull away for breath. And you don't know why it feels right, you don't know why it makes sense to be kissing her here, on a beach, in a place your family now calls home, because you never expected this to happen.

You never expected that you would want to just stay here, that you'd want to hear the slight whimper that comes from Brittany's mouth as your tongue flicks against her lips because Brittany was never something you wanted before. You never knew you wanted to know what it felt like to lift your hand from her waist and cup the hinge of her jaw, nor did you know you wanted to know what it felt like to trace Brittany's lips or what it felt like to push your tongue into her mouth feel the curves and lines of her teeth.

You never knew you wanted any of it.

You never knew you _needed _any of it to spur you on and keep you going through the day.

But now you do.

And that terrifies you.

You pull away, the lack of oxygen too much, but you keep your eyes closed because you're too scared to look into her eyes. You know you're scared, and you can feel it and hear it in your quivering breath, beating against her mouth but you can't stop yourself. You're just unable to block away everything you feel because this weekend has broken something inside of you. It's broken that seal that you've desperately been keeping on and everything's flooding in and you're not sure how to handle it.

Still though, you're finding it hard to care about the fear gripping your chest because Brittany's right there, her hands sliding down from your hair, around your neck and settling, palm down, warm against your collarbone. You're finding it hard to care because she's breathing unevenly, and you can feel her heart pounding where your arm's cradled around her back and your thumb's stroking over her cheek, feeling the quirk of her lips as she smiles at you, thinking you don't know because your eyes are closed.

And just like that, you're okay. You're okay because your fear doesn't matter. Not now. Not here. Not with Brittany.

"Thank you," Brittany whispers, and you force yourself to pull back, your eyes slowly opening to meet hers.

"For what?"

She shrugs, but her eyes dart away nervously, her face twisting and a variety of emotions flashing across her face. You try to read it, but it's gone before you can. "For this weekend, I guess," she finally hushes.

You grin, your heart swooning in your chest because you know she's not really just saying thank you for this weekend. She's saying thank you for you, and everything you do for her; and even though you don't always think you're doing the best, you know she appreciates it. She appreciates everything you do and it's one of the reasons you—

"It's not problem," you blurt out, not wanting to finish the sentence in your head. Brittany shudders and you're suddenly thankful for that gust of wind because it leads you to say, "Maybe we should be getting back. It's getting cold."

And as she's cold, Brittany doesn't have a problem and nods. So you kiss her quickly on the cheek before climbing out from behind her, getting to your feet before you offer her your hand and help her up.

Then you both walk back to the car slowly, your hands swinging between you and your thoughts left behind.

Like you said, this weekend isn't complicated, and you're not going to make it like that with silly thoughts.

/

**Go on... you know you want to leave a review :)**


	11. Chapter 10

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Ten]  
**Rating:** NC-17**  
****Length: **11.7k

**Notes: **Got a review that said I '_completely ripped off the plot from 'How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days' _when I most definitely haven't. If you've seen that film, you'll know it's a bet by two people who didn't know each other and this story is about two best friends who become more after too much alcohol and some good old sexy times one night. Admittedly, I got inspiration for this family holiday part from that film, but I didn't rip it off and don't plan on it at all. I should've written that in the previous chapter, but I forgot; so I don't own any of that plot at all and never said I have. Also, don't bring my Beta into this; she has nothing to do with it and all she's said is that she loves it and that was it. So if you're going to start yelling at someone, yell at me, not her.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own anything just in case people think I've committed 'plagiarism.'

/

When you get back to the car, you move to the passenger side and open the door, ready to help Brittany get in but when you tug her, she stands by the side of the car and looks at you. Not looks at you in the adoring way you're used to, but in a way that makes you think she wants to ask you something. So your eyes flick from side to side, wondering whether you should just pretend like you can't see it because you don't know what she's going to ask, or just face it. In the end, you know you never really had a choice to you straighten up and twist your body back to her, grabbing both her hands again, your bodies facing each other.

"What you thinking?"

Brittany pauses for a second, chewing on her lower lip. "Can I drive?" She asks and that kind of wasn't what you were expecting but you guess it's slightly relieving.

"You wanna drive back?" You repeat, twisting your face. "Do you even know _how _to drive?"

You don't mean it to come out as rudely as it did, and you see the offense flash across blue eyes because you know Brittany's sensitive about her knowledge.

"I just mean—I've never seen you drive," you blurt out, trying to save yourself.

Brittany's face relaxes and she offers a smile. "That's why you're here," she responds and you begin smiling for no reason in particular.

"To teach you?" You question, lifting an eyebrow. Brittany nods. "You want me to teach you how to drive?"

She bobs her head. "I mean, you don't have to but I thought—"

"No," you interject, shaking your head but then nodding it. "I'd like to."

Brittany jumps up and down, her face splitting into the most excited grin and you take a moment to take in her features; the way her brow crinkles and how all her teeth are on show from how wide her smile is. How her eyes aren't _just _blue anymore, but a bright, sparkling color that sucks the air from your lungs because they're just _so _beautiful, and how her fingers clench that little tighter around yours and how she's pulling you close, one of her hands dropping from yours and the tips of them coming up to your jaw, adding the tiniest amount of pressure until the next thing you're aware of are the feel of warm lips pressing against your own.

Your eyes flutter shut, and you suck in a deep inhale through your nose as her nose nudges your cheek, her lips pressing harder into you. Her fingertips don't move from your jaw, just stroke over the skin and your lips quirk up at the touch, your heart swooning within your because she knows just what to say, just what to do and how to touch you to make your entire body tingle.

As soon you smile into the kiss, you feel Brittany's lips mirror it and then you're both smiling so much you can't keep it up, so you just break and open your eyes, staring at each other for a moment.

"What," you clear your throat, blood rushing to your face at how hoarse your voice is. "What was that for?"

Brittany's head turns, her eyes going with it as she shrugs. "I don't know," she returns to meet your glance. "A thank you for teaching me."

You let out a small laugh. "You don't even know if I can teach you. I could be crap at it."

She ponders of it for a few seconds before scrunching her nose and shaking her head. "I have faith in you," she whispers and something about that makes your heart flutter a little. No-one's ever had faith in you before. But before you can thank her, or blush or even blurt out something embarrassing, she's kissing you on the cheek and skipping around to the driver's side, sliding in and throwing you a wink as she says, "Come on Miss Lopez. Teach me."

You stare with your mouth open for a good five seconds, thinking about how hot it'd be to do a little role play with Brittany in the bedroom, before you stumble over your feet and climb into the car.

/

As the cars a little old, you decide to help Brittany out with the gears and control them so she can focus on the steering and pedals of the car. She stalls a few times, the most adorable frustrated pout on her face when the engine conks out, and you can't help but laugh because sometimes (read: all the time) she's really damn cute.

Anyway, you manage to get back to the house on a smooth run and it doesn't take half as much time as you thought it would. When Brittany pulls into the drive and parks perfectly, you watch her face beam and the most excited grin stretch across her face and you can't help but mirror it.

"I did it!" She yells, literally bouncing in her chuckle and nod in approval. "And almost better than me," you smirk.

Blue eyes slide in your direction, a fair eyebrow quirked. "Almost?" She repeats, her tone teasing. "I don't know, San; I reckon I gave you a run for your money."

You both chuckle together in the car for a few minutes before you roll your eyes and climb out. She does the same and you pull the roof of the car up, just in case. After, Brittany heads into the house, opening the door and you stand in the doorway, watching her kicking off her ankle boots and stretching her arms in the air because you like how comfortable she is here. You honestly feel your chest swell with affection at the sight and tilt your head, letting out a breathy sigh. She must hear it because she spins around, her hair whipping with the motion and she shoots you a toothy grin.

It snaps you out of it and you push off the doorway, moving toward her with your hands out. She takes them immediately and squeezes, blue eyes boring into brown.

"I can't hear your family," she whispers like it's a stage secret.

You frown, perking your ears up and you realize that yeah, she has a point; so you drop her hands and walk through to the living room, expecting to find your entire family lounging around but you come up with nothing.

Thinking that they're out on the deck, you head back out there, through the kitchen where you suspect your mom is because she's _always _there, but once again there's no-one there, or out the back and you pause, your face twisting with confusion as you listen to soft footsteps come up behind you.

Where the hell are they?

"We were gone like... four hours," you say, eyes flitting to the clock.

"You can totally get to like, Orlando, in four hours from here," Brittany randomly comments and your face switches from confusion to laughter. "Wait," she says and you spin around. "What if they've gone to Disneyland?" Her lip juts out into a pout, head cocking to the side and eyebrows furrowing and your small smile turns into a full-blown grin at her expression. "Why would they go without us?"

"How do you even know that?" You ask, ignoring her question.

Brittany's face turns guilty, but it's a playful guilt. "I might have looked it up," she whispers and _God, _she's so fucking cute you don't even know what to do with yourself.

"You're such a goober," you say and poke her nose, stepping closer. "But I doubt they went there," you continue but pause, shaking your head after a moment. No, they wouldn't have. "I'll go check upstairs."

She nods and you resist the urge to kiss her as you back through the house and upstairs.

/

Turns out, your family must have been exhausted because as you peer into each of the rooms, you see the sleeping forms of all your family. Your abuelo and abuela aren't there, but you suppose they would've left or gone to a hotel as they probably wouldn't have felt comfortable sleeping on the couches downstairs.

You creep back down the hallway, going toward the stairs but Brittany's already standing at the top of them, waiting patiently. You stop, look at her and tilt your head to the side.

"You could totally be a ninja."

"How do you know I'm not?" She smirks and you just stare in response, thinking about Brittany in a ninja uniform. It could be hot. "So did you find them?"

You peer over your shoulder to where you just came from and cross your arms over your chest. "Yeah," you say through an exhale and turn back to her. "They're asleep."

"_Asleep?_" She repeats, her eyebrows lifting and face scrunching in confusion, much like yours did when you found your family asleep. Though you know you definitely don't look half as cute as Brittany does when she's confused and you find yourself a little envious. You're sure any emotion would look good on Brittany. "It's like, nine thirty."

"Guess they were tired," you try to reason and you consider asking Brittany if she wants to go downstairs and watch a film or something, maybe even piss Roman off by eating the tub of dairy-free ice-cream you know your mom bought him as he's lactose intolerant so he can't have pudding tomorrow after lunch — consider it payback for leering and most probably using Brittany as fodder for his spank bank — but then Brittany's yawning and you don't want to keep her awake if she's tired; though you really don't want to be alone either.

No, scratch that, you don't want to be apart from her.

"Hey, San?" You blink at her, showing your willingness to listen. "Can I take a shower?" She asks, slowly, wrinkling her nose down at her body. "I feel a little sweaty from the beach."

You smile and nod, tell her it's okay and grab her hand as you lead her toward the bathroom. When you get in there, you drop Brittany's hand and push back the glass shower door, reaching for the knob and turning it on because this fucking thing is manic; one second it'll be scalding hot and the next it'll be so cold you'll turn into a freaking ice-cube, and you don't want Brittany to have to endure either of those temperatures, so you'll test it out on your arm first.

"The towels are in the cupboard," you say, balancing on one leg and wincing at the freezing water dripping on to your skin. "Just grab one and there's shampoo already in here," you pull your arm back and twirl around, meeting blue eyes staring back at you already. "And you already know where your room is," you chuckle, heading for the bathroom door.

And you don't want to part from her now, but you know she doesn't have any clothes so she'll come out the shower with a towel on and you're not sure you could keep your hands off her like that; not because you're a total horn dog but because... well, it's _Brittany. _That's pretty much enough explanation.

So you just grab door knob and open it, but as you step over the threshold, half inside the bathroom and half outside, a hand snaps out and cold, pale fingers wrap around your wrist, halting your movement.

"San," Brittany breathes quickly and you don't turn around because you can hear something... _different _in her voice.

"Yeah?"

"I just—I wanted to say thank you," she whispers and drops her hand away from you. "For listening to me and for this weekend. It... it means a lot."

Pasting on a small smile, you shoot it toward her, twisting your neck over your shoulder. "It's no problem," you reply, swallowing. "I liked it."

Blue eyes meet brown and you two just stare at each other, something changing in the air as your eyes dart between each of her. You don't know what it is, and you don't know why you feel your heart pick up as you stare because she's just saying thank you. She's just your best friend, saying thank you to her best friend for taking her away from the weekend and for listening to her problems. That's what best friends do. Hell, you know Quinn's heard you out enough about your problems and stuff, and maybe it might not have been as deep as family crap, but it was still listening to problems.

So it doesn't mean anything more than Brittany just being grateful. Nothing more.

Brittany's lips quirk into a soft smile and you watch her squint at you like she wants to say something as she pushes back some of the hair fallen in front of her face; but after you count seventeen seconds of dead silence between you, apart from your breathing and the shifting of your weight from one leg to another, you bob your head once and continue out the door, managing to step out completely and pull the door half-shut.

But that's when you hear it.

"San, wait!"

Once again, your peer through the door, sticking only your head in and keeping the rest of your body out. "Yeah?"

Brittany's mouth moves, her lips opening and closing, but she seems to be struggling to get her words out and so you just stand there, feeling like a bit of a spare idiot and blow out your cheeks. You don't know what she has to say, and with anyone else you'd just let out a grunt, or maybe a blunt good night and slam the door because you don't like your time being wasted—you're kind of a bitch like that—but this is Brittany, and so you just wait patiently, feel no frustration whatsoever. You'd wait forever to hear Brittany.

And it's another twenty-five seconds before she speaks, and when she does, you swear you all about die.

"Will you take a shower with me?"

/

You don't know why, but you've never had a shower with someone.

You're sure when you were a kid you shared a bath with a relative or whatever, but you were two at the time and that was the normal thing to do back then. Well, you never found it normal but your mom did and what were you going to do? You were two. The most you could've protested was slap your hands against the water and splash your bath buddy and make him cry and you were going to be fucked if you were going to get a slap on the ass for that, so you guess you must have just stayed quiet.

But that's totally not the point you're trying to make here. It's just that, you've never had a shower with someone because it just always seemed so... intimate. Revealing yourself completely naked—which okay, you do during sex but apparently to some people sex is intimate—and just standing there, caressing, touching, staring into each others eyes and washing each other, just seems like something a couple would do. Hell, you're pretty damn sure you've even seen movies with that in; but you're still finding yourself unable to say no to her.

"I mean, you don't have to. I just... If you wanted to," Brittany suddenly blurts out, her hands wringing in front of her and toes pointing in.

You know it means she's nervous, especially with the way her eyes are darting between you and the floor intermittently, and so before you know it, and without another word, you're stepping back into the bathroom, slowly and quietly shutting the door behind you. You can't help but smile to yourself at everything, at how comfortable you feel for doing this and you know that months ago, you would've freaked out and made up some lame ass excuse to get your butt out of here because you know this isn't normal for best friends; but then again, you and Brittany aren't exactly normal best friends and so you push all your fears and hesitations—and by _all, _you really mean _all _of them—to the back of your mind.

Just for tonight.

(One night can't hurt, right?)

"Okay," you breathe out, and Brittany looks at you, almost like she's surprised you said yes but you don't really take notice.

Instead you step forward, your hands lifting to one side of her hip, fingers pinching the top of the zip whilst the back of your knuckles brush against soft skin, making Brittany suck in a deep shaky breath. You meet her eye as you unzip her skirt, the sound echoing loudly in the bathroom and you feel your breath hitching as you drop your hands, because you're close enough that your hands skim down the sides of her thighs, and it both makes you shudder.

With her skirt now pooled around her feet, she begins undressing you slowly as you to do her, both your touches gentle and smiles soft. Your eyes never break, not once, and you feel this intimacy that grips your chest and fills you with warmth because you've never had anyone look at you the way Brittany does. You've never seen that kind of adoration in someone's eyes, you've never felt the affection in a single touch, and honestly, you never thought you would.

You thought that's what fairy tales and novels and movies were for. You thought this didn't exist, and were a figment of people's imaginations to just make up for the fact that life is sad and painful, and to distract you from that fact that you're born the same way you die; alone.

You never thought you'd see it in real life. You never thought it'd literally be within your reach.

Yet here it is, in the form of your best friend. It's staring right at you, adoring and loving and affectionate, with no qualms and no fears, because it's sure. It's definite. It's something that can't be changed.

And honestly? That fucking terrifies you.

But you don't want to think tonight. You don't want to ruin this because it just feels... it just feels right. So no matter how many questions that brings up, how much you know you're going to think about this for days—fucking weeks—to come, you just push it away. You toss it to the back of your mind and lock it up because all you're aware of in this moment, is how much you want Brittany. How much you want to hold her, to kiss her, to show her how much she means to you. Even if you're not sure how much that is.

Soon enough, you're both standing naked in front of each other, and you know if you were the person you were a few months back, you'd be drooling over the sight of Brittany's bare body before you, but now... you just continue staring her in the eye, because there's so much more to Brittany than her appearance. There's so much depth behind a single look and you know later, you're going to hate yourself for being able to see it, being able to feel it, because you know somewhere deep inside that there's more than what you're both leading on; than what you're both verbalizing.

You manage to tear your gaze away from her body as you reach into the shower to feel the water, hoping it'll be the right temperature still, but the second your arm's inside, hands are grabbing your waist and you're stumbling inside, Brittany climbing in behind you. A light laughter bursts from your lips as you brace yourself on the back wall, the stream of water now covering you from head to foot, soaking you and you splutter, shaking your head like a dog would to rid the water from your eyes before you twirl around to find Brittany giggling too.

"I wasn't ready," you pretend to whine and pout. "I could've been burned or frozen."

She grabs your hands, tugging you closer until you're both directly under the stream, your bodies pressing together. Your skin flares at the touch, sparks sizzling beneath your skin and you feel the effect she has on you shoot through around your body until you're tangling your fingers through hers and letting out a small _hmm _of appreciation. You love being intimate with her in a non-sexy way. Not that you have a problem with the sexy way either because _fuck, _you totally do love that too, so much so that as you're thinking about it, you can feel the blood rushing to your groin and your member stiffening against Brittany's thigh.

"Stop being so melodramatic," she giggles in response and tilts her head back against the water, looking like something out of an exotic shampoo commercial as she exposes her neck and you don't even bother trying to resist as you lean forward, pressing your lips to the hollow of her throat once before pulling back. She tilts her head down, her eyes a dazzling blue and you know that both of you know that wasn't a gesture out of arousal, it was just an affectionate one and you both share a soft smile because you don't need to explain your reasons behind it; your heart quickening its beat is enough.

"Shampoo?" You whisper and her brow momentarily furrows before you roll your eyes playfully and drop one of her hands, reaching to grab the shampoo off the little shelf to your left.

She gets it after that, her face reddening at her own confusion and you find it nothing but adorable as you rock on to the balls of your feet, kissing her once, softly, on the lips, before urging her to spin around with a circle of your hand. She shuts the glass shower door since apparently you forgot to (but Brittany's freaking _naked _so it's not like you can be blamed for a mind blank) and you shift closer, your stomach leaping as Brittany peers over her shoulder at the same time you squirt a handful of shampoo into your palm because that's just the effect she has when she looks at you.

"What?" You murmur, self-consciously, but Brittany just shrugs at the same time you begin massaging the shampoo into her hair. "Step back," you add and she does so, tipping her head back into the stream a little so you can get the right sud consistency. "Okay, now forward." She does so and you scratch lightly at her scalp, biting down hard on your bottom lip and pinching your thighs together at the low moan that comes from her at the movement. "Now get under again," you command softly and you repeat the process all over again after washing out the shampoo with conditioner, all the meanwhile ignoring the feel of her slippery skin pressed against your own.

You're pretty sure you're hard already, if the twitching you can feel going on between your thighs is anything to go by, but you don't feel the need to get off hit you because this isn't like that. This isn't shower sex, and it's weird because it's so intimate. It's such an intimate thing to do but you feel nothing but comfortable, even though your nerve endings feel like they're on fire, and it's not because of the hot water pounding down on your skin.

"Your turn," Brittany utters quietly and you slide your hands out her hair, realizing you were just holding her and staring, and she giggles before setting her hands on your bicep and twisting you around. Her touch is gentle and soft, and you lean back into her fingers as they massage your scalp skilfully, your eyes fluttering shut, and you find yourself making the same noises she did a second ago. You're not even the slightest embarrassed, especially not when she presses her front against you, her hardened nipples pronounced against your back and drops a kiss to your shoulder, a spot with no shampoo on it, before she whispers, "Get under."

You do as you're told, and once she's repeated the process with the conditioner and you've both thoroughly washed your hair, you turn around because you want to face her; but when you do, you feel like you're in a movie because everything goes into slow motion. She's not doing anything special, just running her hands through her wet hair, darkened by the water and urging it back over her shoulders, but it feels like something's just been revealed to you that you've tried to hide for so long.

It's like you've crammed it inside a closet, pushing as hard against the doors when it grew too big to keep it inside, but now it's just burst free. It's just burst open and spread everywhere and when you look at her, with shiny skin and eyes so blue they make the Caribbean sea pale in comparison, you feel like you've found something that's been missing the entire time. She's just so beautiful. So perfect, and you can't help but scoff at yourself because you don't know how you didn't see it before.

Though it's as you're seeing her, letting these blinds be pulled away from your eyes, that it hits you. It really hits you, right in the gut, ripping the breath straight from your lungs, for the first time because you know what this means. Yet you freeze. You don't say it and your find your tongue clamped between your teeth to stop you from gasping or blurting out your recent discovery because you can't say it aloud or even verbally acknowledge it. You just can't.

So instead you find yourself focusing on your bodies subconscious movement of stepping forward and wrapping your arms around Brittany's back, the length of your bodies pressing together and her arms snaking around your neck, finding their familiar, comfortable place. She doesn't question the gesture, just buries her face against your wet hair and you tuck your head against her shoulder, closing your eyes because this revelation is too much to take. It can only mean bad things and you don't want it to.

This is good. This is comfortable. You don't want things to change because what if they go wrong? What if your epiphany fucks everything up and you wind up alone and without the one person you really need?

And it seems Brittany must sense the sudden shift in the atmosphere, because her head turns, her lips brushing over the shell of your ear. "What's wrong?"

It comes out as a whisper and you just squeeze your eyes shut tighter, hugging her closer, your fingers clutching to her like your life depends on it.

"Nothing, I—" you croak out and you can feel the heat spiking at your eyes. _Fuck it. _You don't want to cry. You can't. You gulp thickly, something lodging in your throat. "Just nothing," you repeat, and Brittany doesn't pry anymore, instead holds you closer like she's trying to meld your bodies together.

And you two just stand there, holding each other as the water beats down around you, and you can't help but fight the knowledge that you've never felt so safe in your life.

_God, _you think and press your lips hard against the edge of her collarbone, just where it dips beneath her skin.

You're in _so _much trouble.

/

About ten minutes later, the water begins to turn cold on your skin and you urge Brittany out the shower, switching off the shower before climbing out with her. She's reaching into the top of the cupboard, on the balls of her feet when your own feet touch the cool bathroom tiles, and you take a moment to marvel in the perfection that is her body. How her shoulder blades flex and how drops of water cascade down her back, sliding down the center of her spine to the two dimples in her lower back.

She really is the most painfully beautiful thing you've ever seen in your life.

By the time you've stopped gazing, Brittany's already stepping close and wrapping her arms back around you, the towel clutched in her hands so it covers your body. You hold it close, taking it from her and you give her a grateful smile as she covers herself with her own towel, drying herself, dabbing the white, fluffy towel over her body to pick up the water droplets lingering on her smooth, pale skin.

You don't bother drying yourself, or rather you can't tell yourself to because you're just obsessed with watching Brittany. Your revelation has left you in this strange, hovering state and it's like you're trying to fight what you know to be true by seeking something that you know won't appear. There's nothing wrong with Brittany, literally _nothing _that you can try to focus on to make you push your epiphany away, and even though you don't care right now because the discovery has left you with this light, fluffy feeling inside your chest, you know later on, it's going to hit you hard. It's going to hit you hard and it's going to hit you good.

_Damn. _You really are in _so _much shit.

"So, we should probably be getting to bed," Brittany says and breaks the silence that had grown between you, and you lift your vision, peering up through your eyelashes to find her standing there, mostly dry, with the towel tucked beneath her arms and covering her body. You try to speak, but you find your throat has grown thick and so you swiftly give up, replacing your words with a few bobs of your head.

She offers you a smile that doesn't reach her eyes, and averts her gaze to the floor as she brushes past you, opening the door and stepping outside. You quickly catch up with her, and you don't know why she's suddenly turned a little cold because you haven't even done anything wrong. Though you suppose that might actually _be _the reason.

"Wait," you blurt out through a whisper, following her out into the hallway and looking from side to side to make sure none of the bedroom doors are opening, revealing a family member that'd catch you and Brittany like this, both in towels. You're pretty sure that'd be hard to explain as you and her are supposedly just 'best friends.' "Are you okay?"

Brittany watches over you for a second, her eyebrows twitching. "I'm fine," she breathes, a smile growing across her lips. "Just tired," she lies.

"Right." You try to believe her but you just don't. You know her too well, and you sort of hate yourself for that right now. Things would be easier if you didn't know her so well. "Well, goodnight then."

Blue eyes bore into your brown one for a long moment before you turn away, willing yourself to just walk into your room and put something physical, like the bedroom door, between you because you're so close to just grabbing her and spilling the truth; but before you can even take a step, Brittany grabs your hand and spins you around, stepping close and angling her head to kiss you softly. You're shocked, stunned by the feel of her lips pressed against yours because you were sure she was being a little off with you, but clearly she's not if she's cupping your cheek, stroking her thumb across the skin and smiling against your lips, and really, you don't care about anything else when she's kissing you.

It lasts for no longer than four seconds, and then she's pulling away and smiling sweetly down at you. "Goodnight, San," she whispers, her voice a little hoarse and eyes a frightening blue.

You swallow, nod and watch her walk away after she squeezes her hands, never leaving yourself until she's behind closed doors.

/

You lie in bed for hours, above the sheets as it's a little warm in this room, and drum your fingers against your abdomen where your hands lie on top of your button down sleep shirt. You don't usually have sleep clothes, preferring boxers and a bra, or even to sleep naked, but you know your family has just walked in unannounced in earlier years, and so you don't really feel like doing that again, so you can deal with a sleep shirt and boxers for a night.

Anyway, you stare at the ceiling, counting away the minutes as they pass because you just can't find the sleep you want. You don't need it because you're wide awake, but you'd like it to come to you at some point as your mind's racing a mile a minute, thoughts of blonde hair, blue eyes and terrifying feelings invading your brain, and you don't want to have to keep thinking about it. All of your thoughts for the past four months have just been Brittany, Brittany, Brittany and it's just irritating. They're only growing, increasing with intensity, and you hate that you can't figure anything out because you're just too scared to.

If you just forced yourself to come up with some type of conclusion, you wouldn't have to be putting yourself through this.

Your thoughts are swiftly interrupted by the sound of floorboards creaking right outside your bedroom door, and you bolt upright, back straight as a pole and eyes wide as they lock on to the space between the floor and the door, revealing the smallest slither of light from the bathroom. You must have forgotten to turn it off. Though you're glad you did, because as you stare, your eyes narrowing, you watch a shadow appear outside, a pair of feet casting darkness where light should be and you wait, hushing your own breath as it's loud in your ears as you wait for whoever is outside to come in.

Except they never do.

Moments pass, minutes even, and you don't know who's outside (although you have a pretty good idea who) but they finally disappear, the sound of soft footsteps padding down the carpeted hallway, away from your bedroom. And you can't help yourself as you throw your legs off the side of the bed, push off the mattress with balled fists and creep over to the bedroom room, opening it slowly and wincing when there's a slight creak, before pulling it open and step outside into the hallway.

And that's when you find her. Brittany, tip-toeing back toward her bedroom, wearing small pajama shorts and a tank top, and you feel yourself smiling and calling her name before you know it. "Britt?"

Brittany spins around, eyes wide like she's been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Britt, are you okay?" You whisper, your eyes meeting hers and she looks behind her, back toward her bedroom door, hesitating in an answer.

"Yeah, I just—" she starts and warily glances back at you, rubbing her left hand up her right forearm where it lies straight against her side. You shift, curious to the nervous gesture. "I couldn't sleep," she continues and you tilt your head to the side, unable to fight the idea that maybe she couldn't sleep for the same reason you couldn't. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," you blurt out, pulling your lips down and baring your teeth at the volume of your voice. Shit. You need to keep it down. "Whoops," you let out through a soft chuckle and Brittany grins at you. "I mean, you didn't wake me," you repeat, this time with your voice low and you take one step down the hallway, your eyes flicking to the left as if to look back to your bedroom. "Do you wanna..."

You can't seem to finish your sentence, the words trailing off because you want to ask her to come and sleep with you, but you also know with your latest epiphany that you probably shouldn't. You don't want to make things more complicated than they are, even though you're not sure they could be at this moment, but you just don't want to run the risk. You've protected yourself and Brittany for too long, tried to make this work for too long, just to give up and give in.

Though you think she already knows what you want to ask, what you want, because she comes toward you slowly, stopping about a meter away from you and stares you in the eye, wetting her lips and sucking them into her mouth, her brows creasing and face twisting in thought.

"Do I want to what, San?" She asks, and you lift your head, your heart wanting nothing more than to blurt out pretty much _everything _you want, but instead you just finish off what you were originally planning. It's easier than revealing the truth.

"Do you want to come and sleep with me?" You cock your head to the right quickly, gesturing to your door. And you know if it were any other person, you'd correct your words, stumble over the letters and splutter because you don't mean _sleep with me _as in _fuck me, _you mean, lying in each others arms and holding each other until you both fall asleep; but Brittany knows you well. Too well, you think, and she just nods sheepishly, the corners of her lips tugging up into a nervous smile and she reaches out with a shaking hand which you take, sliding your fingers through hers.

You let your eyes linger on hers for a long moment, counting the seconds and breaths you both take before you guide her into your bedroom, opening the door and letting her enter first before you follow her. Your hands stay clutched together the entire time, fingers locked around each other and you feel her stroke over the back of your thumb as you slide into bed, pulling her with you until both of you are lying on your sides, facing each other.

And in this moment, it feels like you should say something. It feels significant for some reason, a reason you know not of, but you don't want to ruin it by asking. You don't want to break the gaze, change the way Brittany's staring at you like she never wants to stop, and so you let yourself revel in those blue eyes roaming around your face, drinking you in like it'll be the last time. Though you suppose it is; after all, you two are going back to normality when you leave Miami.

You never realized until now how much you _don't_ want that.

Because it's peaceful lying here quietly in the dark with Brittany. It makes you forget about everything bad in the world, and makes you think of a bright, happy future. It makes you forget about nosy best friends and questioning glares. It makes you forget about having to hide the lingering touches, and having to pretend like you're not making eye as Brittany in a way you never thought you would. It just makes you forget everything, and as you watch Brittany watch you, you slowly become aware of something in the air changing between you; because for the first time, you're seeing what you know to be true, reflected in her eyes.

It makes you gasp, and you want to acknowledge it out loud, but you can't. Just like you couldn't in the shower. It just makes everything too real, and so instead you shift your head closer on the pillow, your arm winding around Brittany's back and pressing against the small of her back to urge your bodies together, and you shift that little bit closer until you're so close to Brittany that your noses bump and lips brush as you say, "Night, Britt."

She smiles, you can feel it, and it's soft and warm and you close your eyes to think about it at the same time she eliminates the gap between you, kissing you carefully, gently, her hand coming up to rest against your cheek. You don't try to shift, to open your mouth and taste more of Brittany, instead just choose to kiss her, lips against lips and feel your heart thump loudly against your chest, matching the rhythm hers has set as the hand on her hip pulls her even closer to you.

Though soon enough you feel Brittany's lips getting sloppy against yours, the kiss turning sleepy and so you break away, craning your neck to press your lips to her forehead before you both settle back down on the pillow, the tips of your noses squashed together and warm exhalations of breath exchanging between you.

"Night, San," she whispers, and you drop a kiss to her hair as your arms tug her further into you, your bodies so close together you might just melt into one another, but you say nothing in response.

And this time, with Brittany in your arms, you find sleep easily.

/

You wake up at some point in the night. You don't know why because the branch of the oak tree isn't scratching against the window pane like it did last night, and there's no-one padding down the hallway to use the bathroom. There's no real reason, and you go to shift a little when you find Brittany snuggled on your chest, her head resting on it, ear pressed to the space below your collarbones and you smile to yourself, stroking a hand delicately over her hair. It's late, or early depending on your frame of mind, but whatever, it's still dark and so you don't want to wake her with your touches so you just lie there, making sure not to jolt her as you think of the weekend.

It really has been amazing. You don't know why because you don't usually feel like this about visiting your family but you think it's not that part of it, but rather the Brittany part of being here that's made you enjoy it so much. She's done what you told her she'd do and save you from complete boredom, but she's done more than that. She's just made it a really nice weekend, especially with this evening's beach walk and honestly? You don't want it to end.

There's no complications here and no quizzical or really fucking nosy best friends with the name Quinn to interfere. There's no narrowed glares or questions thrown at you, you've just been accepted what's going on and even though it's lead you to a few realizations, you can't help but think that they're going to help you at some point in time. Maybe not soon, but in the future, you know they're going to be good for you. For both you and Brittany, in fact.

This weekend's just been relaxing, and comfortable, and you're kind of dreading going back home tomorrow. Back to reality and back to pretending.

(Although you're not really sure _what _you're pretending to do or be.)

As your hand strokes over her hair again, you feel her stir and mumble something incoherent against your chest. Your entire body tenses, the fear of waking her up spiking against your skin and you try not to breathe because you don't want to disturb her. Though as you continue to still, you pick up the sound of her regulated breathing and realize she's already awake. _Shit. _You didn't mean to wake her up and you don't want her to know you were awake.

"_Hmm,_" she hums sleepily, tilting her head back against your shoulder.

You manage to pull your head and twist it enough to glance down at her, meeting her eye. She's a little groggy, you can tell by the way she's squinting and blinking purposefully and you smile to yourself because she's just so adorable. Before you know it, your hand is stroking over her face, the backs of your fingers grazing over her cheek and the tips of your finger running down the length of her nose, and after you've finished, and after you pull your eyes back to meet hers, you find something behind the blue that makes you take a staggered breath.

You don't know what it is, you've seen it before a few times, but you've never seen is this... _intense. _It feels like it could climb out, wrap you up in an embrace and never let you go. It feels like it could hold you forever, the softness warming you for eternity and you wouldn't mind at all. And that could be why you don't even hesitate in leaning down and kissing her, but then again it could be because you just want to, or because you haven't kissed her in the way you've wanted to in over twenty-four hours and for the past four months that's never happened before.

It could be a number of things that make you kiss her, but the second your lips touch hers, you don't even care what the reason is, because you're kissing her and she's kissing you back.

Your lips fit together perfectly, yours taking in her bottom one and sucking gently and you feel her shift, pushing herself higher to your level as both her hands find the space beside your head, her body lifting and knees bracketing your hips. Your hands move to her waist, helping her as she settles down and you feel her lips stretch into a lazy grin, yours mirroring it, as your bodies press together, your hands sliding around her and smoothing up and down her back, moving the fabric of her shirt with it.

You want more of her, you can feel it curdling in your groin and you know by the way her hips are rolling over you, making you bulge and grow against her, that she wants it to, but it's like there's something stopping you. It's like there's a barrier because you know that since you realized that you... well, since you just realized, if you sleep with her then you're acknowledging what you feel and acting with them instead of acting with your dick like you usually do. You never use your mind when having sex, you never think with it and yet here you are, kissing the most gorgeous woman on the planet and feeling your mind reacting to her as well as your body.

Though it's stupid to think you could stop yourself from giving in, because her lips are just too soft, her touch too powerful and when she kisses you harder, pushing your head further back into the pillow, something transpires between you, much like it did earlier when you were staring at her and you know you're completely powerless to resist.

So you let your feelings and your body take a hold, letting them make the movements instead of your conscious thoughts and your hands lower down her back, curving over her ass and gripping it, aiding her in her rocks against you. She grins against your mouth immediately, and you can't help but muffle a giggle against hers before your hands graze down the back of her thighs, skimming across the softness of her skin. It makes her shudder, and you can't help but wonder if you have the same effect on her that she does on you because that reaction says you do.

Somehow, that single thought makes the heat flush across your skin, and your hands move back up on their own accord, slipping beneath the hem of her sleep shorts to grab at the flesh of her ass, fingers kneading gently as your tongue strokes into her mouth in the way she deserves; with adoration and care. She moans against you, her hands coming up to your cheeks and she pulls back for air, but takes the next kiss breathlessly and tips your head back shortly after, kissing a path down your jaw and neck, reverent at first but then urgent and open-mouthed.

Her kisses trail down your skin, her tongue poking out to taste you and you groan, your back arching involuntarily off the bed as your hands slip accidentally from her shorts, but find their grip again on top of her thighs, your fingers digging into her skin. But before you can let your hands trail up between her thighs, and cup her over her shorts, she's grabbing your hands and pinning them either side of your head, dipping her head and licking over your throat and collarbones, teeth grazing lightly.

It shoots arousal through your body, and you can't help but pant her name, "Britt, Britt, Britt," over and over until she's coming back up to your level and you're lifting your head off the pillow to kiss her hard on the mouth, trying to show her that you need her. Your dick's aching to be inside her and the heat blooming over your skin is almost overwhelming, but you still need and want to be able to show her what she means to you because you pretty much suck at words.

And you think she knows that, because she smiles against your mouth and shifts a little higher up, pressing her core right above yours and pressing down with her hips until you're hissing against her lips and she's tugging your bottom one between her teeth and flicking her tongue against it. The sensations are all too much, arms being pinned against the bed, hips grinding down against you and Brittany's lips moving against yours softly, urging you into a kiss that's way too gentle and soft considering her movements, but you don't care. All you can tell from this is that she wants you, that she needs you, and you need her too.

She pulls back, staring you in the eye and your breath hitches at the dark blue staring back at you. There are so many reasons why you shouldn't be doing this, most of them being because your family are down the hall, but also because you think both of you know that deep inside, this isn't just sex. Something about this weekend has flicked a switch inside you, inside her, too, and it feels like every gesture means so much more than before.

That's why you think when her hands slide down from yours, fingers tracing along the inside of your forearm and across your shoulders to your chest, resting there, and when you prop yourself up on your elbows a little, minimizing the space between your faces and then pressing your lips to hers, once, softly, that something changes in the air between you. Changes right here and now, and both of you just accept it because you realize there's no point in trying to fight it. Why should you?

So you kiss her once more, and when your eyes avert down to her hands on your chest, the same hands now slowly working the buttons of your sleep shirt, slowly and shakily, you breathe out unevenly because it's already nothing like you two have ever done before. It's not urgent, it's not frantic, or full of animalistic need, it's just caring, and adoring and affectionate. It's just a slow, dragged out movement and you pick up your head, staring up through your eyelashes whilst you listen to your hard breathing matching Brittany's, to meet blue eyes that stare down at you with such certainty you find yourself having to look away to recollect yourself.

You're just so comfortable. You just want this so much. You want _her _so much, in this way, in this intimate, gentle, manner, and you're so sure of the intimacy that you're positive that if she undressed you and undressed herself, and you two just laid with your bare bodies pressed together, not even necessarily kissing, you'd be one hundred percent content.

Hell, you're sure you could just lie pressed together fully clothed and you'd be content.

Because it's not the sex you want with Brittany. It's the intimacy you want with her.

You watch her undo the buttons to your shirt, admiring her nimble, tender fingers until each side of your shirt falls apart, revealing your bare torso, toned abs, pert nipples and round breasts, and you suddenly feel exposed. You've been naked in front of this girl so many times that you'd need at least twenty pairs of hands to count , but this is different. It's different because she's letting her gaze trail over you like she's trying to memorize every inch of you. She's gazing at you like you're the most perfect thing in the world, and you're so not used to it because she's never really looked at you like this.

You've seen her look at you before sex, her eyes hungry and full of lust, and you've seen a softness in them that you've always tried to figure out, but the second it's appeared, it's disappeared and so you're shocked now as you watch her stare openly with it _right there. _Literally staring down at you.

"Brittany," you breathe, your voice so low and hoarse that it's foreign to your own ears.

Blue eyes flick up, meeting your brown ones and her hands press palm down against your abdomen, your muscles twitching beneath her touch as soft fingers make their way up toward your breasts, the pads of them rolling over your nipples. Your back arches, hips canting up and your teeth sink into your bottom lip as the single touch sends heat surging across your skin, scorching you in the best way possible and you just let yourself feel it because even though it feels like you're on fire, with her staring down at you like this, her soft gaze roaming over your face and eyes so warm and inviting you just want to sink into them, you find yourself not caring whether you burn.

A quivering breath is pulled from deep within you, and you force yourself to start moving, your hands finally drifting up her thighs, beneath her tank top to her stomach. She bends down, pressing soft kisses to the space above your belly button and your eyes roll back, body jolting at every touch. You can feel the energy and arousal building around both of you, the need and want obvious, and you grab the hem of her shirt, but she quickly sits up and tugs you up by your shoulders into a seated position, locking eyes with you as she pushes the sleep shirt off your shoulders, down your arms and tosses it somewhere in the room behind her.

Then she gazes at you, biting her swollen bottom lip and you suck in a shaky breath as you reach for the hem of her shirt again, sliding your palm up the side of it and brushing the back of your hand over her taut stomach as you urge it over her head, her hair falling in waves around her shoulders once you've removed it and thrown it to join your shirt. And then you're bare chest against bare chest, and your hands map out every inch of her, grazing down her ribs, around to her stomach, up to her breasts and over her shoulders to her shoulder blades. She leans into the touch, her eyes fluttering and you take no hesitation in leaning forward, kissing a path down to her breastbone before skimming over and tracing your tongue around her nipple.

"_San,_" she moans, breathlessly, her hands shooting to the back of your head as you suck the flesh into your mouth, flicking your tongue against her and garnering a rut of her hips. But you just smile against her, your hands sliding down into the back of her sleep shorts to clutch at her ass, kneading her like you did earlier, because you want her to feel everything. You want to show her as much as you can and make her feel so good because that's what she does to you; even without sex. She just makes you feel like the most amazing person in the world and this is your thanks and mirror of that.

Your lips release her nipple with a pop, and you move to her neglected one as you pull her back down on the bed with your hands on her ass, you back now flat against the mattress so you can push her shorts off her. She kicks them off the rest of the way and you stroke over her, making sure to touch every bare piece of her, memorizing it as if it's the last time you'll ever touch her, and she moans in response, her head throwing tilting back to expose her throat.

You take this moment to lean in and kiss her neck, sucking over her pulse point as your hands pull her higher against your body, rocking you until you can feel her wetness dampening the front of your boxers. And then you can't take it anymore and push down your boxers, your mouth still working over her neck as her hands tremble beside your head. Your erection springs free from beneath the fabric as you shift, urging them down and you pull your lips away from Brittany's skin, nudging her jaw with your nose until she glances back at you, your eyes locking and breaths trading.

You're not sure why either of you are hesitating, and you can tell by the way she's looking at you that she's thinking the same thing, but you still just continue to stare as your hand strokes down her stomach, fingertips pressing at the smoothness a centimeter about the place she needs you to be, but then there's that pause again. Her eyes dart between yours, her breath ragged and uneven against your mouth and you lean up to kiss her once, softly, before grabbing yourself between you and guiding it to her most intimate place.

She gasps at the initial contact, her hips jerking back and down hard, and you bite down on your bottom lip as she grabs your free hand, pushing it beside your head and holding it there, your fingers tangling together as her other hand goes between your bodies. Her fingers brush over the back of yours, and you expect her to swat your hand out the way carefully, but instead she wraps her hand around the backs of yours, and you both suck in deep, unsteady breaths as you both run the tip of your cock through her wetness, bumping her clit in a way you know way too well.

But then she's shifting and lifting her hips, and still grasping your hand, she slides you down lower until you're pressed against her entrance, and when she lowers her hips just the slightest, she pulls your hand away and grasps it against your chest, right above your heart, as she does the rest with your eyes still locked and lips almost touching from where her head is hovering over yours. She sinks down on to you, kissing you simultaneously, her tongue licking into your mouth and your eyes almost roll into the back of your head at the feeling of being buried deep inside her, the flexing muscles sucking you in and massaging you rhythmically.

And you're sure, when she pulls back and stares you in the eye so close you can see the silver flecks and her breath stuttered and uneven against your drying lips , that you could be in love with her.

Though your thoughts are swiftly interrupted as she rolls her hips slowly, almost experimentally, and then you're focused on the way you feel as you move inside of her and how she releases the hand you have on her chest to cup the back of your neck and keep your foreheads together, kissing every now and then but not being able to keep up fully from the rocking motions set. You never break eye contact though, holding that thought inside your head because you can't fight how right it feels. How it settles in your gut and how it feels like... home. How it feels like you belong, here with her, and with no-one else.

You've had sex with this girl so many times, you know, but there's something more about this. Something that makes you feel like it isn't _just sex._

And that really fucking scares you.

So to distract you from the thoughts, you let your mind go to how she's working your shaft up and down, her eyes struggling to stay open as she slams down on to you, and you slide a hand between your bodies, palm gliding down her abdomen until your fingers reach her clit. Brittany jerks as you roll the pads of them over her in small circles, and you grip her other hand harder, pushing up against it and letting her lean down as you begin moving your own hips, rutting up into her and sliding in and out of her rapidly but gently.

She smiles down at you, her eyes locked on to yours like this is the best thing she's ever felt, and it spurs you on as you thrust into every one of her downward grinds, making sure to keep your fingers in rhythm with the movement. It must spark something inside of her on the third grind, because she begins stroking the small hairs at the nape of your neck as she brings her head down, kissing you in a way that's way too gentle for way her hips are rolling, but you don't care. She's kissing you and moaning into your mouth, and you don't know how she can make you feel so amazing by doing something you've done with many other women, but she's doing it.

After all this time, she still manages to surprise you.

You still don't know how she does it.

"_Ugh, Santana,_" she moans at one particular thrust of your hips, tapping her at the right spot and causing her arms to give out and back to buckle until she's slumped over you, her forehead resting heavily against yours and breaths beating against your mouth. She whines, a sharp whimper pulling from deep within her and you're entire body spreads with goosebumps at the sound. You need to hear it over and over.

So you wrap your arms around her and thrust into her, picking up your pace and feeling the pleasure spark through your body in short electric waves. You've never felt this good with someone else before, and you know as you stare at her, her hands coming up to cup your cheeks as your eyes bore into hers, that you're never going to again. You don't want to even try with anyone else, and despite the heavy pants pushing through your lips, you feel the slight nervous shudder and quiver in your breath.

It feels like that realization coming over you again, hitting you hard in the gut and you slow your movements, pulling out and pushing back in slowly as she tightens around you, your body now rolling in a way that adds the pressure to her clit that was lost when you took control. Your hands slide to her lower back, pushing her lower half harder into you and you use this to bump into her clit repeatedly with the part below your belly button, garnering the most delicious and arousing of sounds.

And even though you want to continue this, to let these sounds take over your body and watch the pleasure as it takes over her face, you feel her tightening around you and you know you're _so _close.

"_Fuck, Brittany,_" you breathe out, following your words with a groan and a slight increase of your pounding as you press you lips together, kissing her and sucking in her bottom lip to muffle the noises you're making.

You can tell she's close too by the incoherent little squeaks she's producing against your mouth, and it doesn't take much more before her entire body's tensing, walls clenching around you and you listen to the sound of your name pour from her lips in the most heavenly way as her face contorts, her cheeks flush, her eyes squeeze shut and her mouth rests against yours, her breaths invading your mouth as well as her whimpers.

And it's enough, just by the way she's looking at you when she opens her eyes, to push you over the edge; so you buck a little, pushing in one, two more times before her lips covers yours and you're burying yourself as deep as possible, emptying yourself into her and whimpering her name against her mouth like she just did when she came undone.

Brittany's hips are still undulating again and again, rolling against yours and somewhere in the back of your mind, your body is reacting to that and pushing these moans up your throat, but you're too focused on Brittany's kissing you, of her lips against yours and how she's kissing you like she wants to kiss you, not like she _has _to because you two just slept together. It makes you feel everything at once, too much at once, and you swallow thickly when you part, but only go back to kissing her.

Somewhere along the line, she lifts her hips and you slide out of her, landing with a low wet slapping sound against your stomach, but you're still just too focused and you're sliding your fingers through her hair and locking your heads together, your kiss too, as she strokes her thumbs over the skin of your cheeks. You're so lost in this, in the way it feels like you've just done more than had sex with your best friend, and so you just keep kissing her and let yourself feel what you've held back for so long in the aftermath of your join orgasms.

There's just no point in denying it anymore.

/

**It's not really a cliffhanger... I don't think. I don't know. Remember it's unbeta'd and I only skim over it so any mistakes are my own.**

**But I hope you enjoyed it anyway! ****Leave a review if you feel like I deserved one. Thank you! :)**


	12. Chapter 11

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Eleven]  
**Rating: **NC-17**  
****Length:** 10.1k

**Notes:** I'm not even gonna bother arguing with anonymous reviewers. Either you like this fic or not. People who like it, I love you and I'm writing for you; people who don't, IDGAF and you know where the close button is so please use it. Thanks. For everyone lovely though, thank you for your feedback!

/

After, you lay on your side, your head propped in your hand and you just watch her.

She's asleep, her face peaceful and serene and you feel your lungs taking in a deep, unsteady breath as your eyes wander down her body, down to where the sheet stops, just below your favorite dimples in her back, back up the dip in her spine and to her blonde hair, tousled and scattered across her back and the pillow.

She really is painfully beautiful. An angel, in fact, and you really don't know how you got this lucky.

You're reaching over and tracing a fingertip over the notches in her spine before you can stop yourself, admiring your own fingers reverently making their way over her skin, taking her in, mapping her out, worshiping her. Your touch moves higher and higher, your breath hitching when she stirs beneath your touch but she doesn't wake, and so you press your palm down against her, letting it drift up and down, over and over, until you're forced to move your hand and graze down her ribs, your thumb tracing the side of her breast, just to touch somewhere you haven't.

It's not a sexual action, and you don't feel heat build within your groin at it either because you're not staring at her like she's a piece of meat; you're staring at her like she's the best thing that's ever existed. Actually, you honestly think she might be.

The thought makes something curdle within you; it's not quite fear, but it's not quite uncertainty or confusion, either, and you stop your hands movements, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as your eyes trace over her because you realize it now. You think you've known for a while, if you're honest.

The signs have all been there, and the realizations have all come, intermittently admittedly, but they've all come none-the-less; but it's only when you're lying here, drinking in the sight of her and listening to your own body react at the sight of her — the blood rush in your ears, your heart pick up its pace and your touch quiver above her skin — that you really, truly acknowledge it for the first time.

You're falling in love with her.

It scares you in a way you're not privy to, because the fear you feel isn't one you'd get from a horror movie, or from remembering that you forgot to switch the stove off at home, it's a fear that you can feel creeping through your bones, chilling you to your very core. It's a fear that you know is going to take a hold of you and change the way you think, you feel, you act, because it's not something you can get over with some therapy or by facing it.

Because it's the fear that you're going to fall in love with someone who might not love you back.

It's the fear that you're going to give yourself to someone fully, wholeheartedly, and not receive anything in return.

It's the fear that you're no longer going to just be yourself, to own yourself, because you're going to give your heart, a vital part of your being, your soul, your life, to someone else.

And it's not like you don't trust Brittany because you do; you'd trust her with anything, but you never wanted to fall for your best friend.

You've read the books, you've heard the stories, you've seen the movies, you know what comes of it — heartbreak, pain and an eternal ache that may fade with time, but will never really go away. You know what the majority of the results are, and you feel hopeless because there's absolutely nothing you can do about it; nothing you can do to stop it because you're already free-falling without a parachute.

Though you suppose you never really had control over it. It was just so... _easy _to fall in love with your best friend when your best friend was Brittany. It was just so simple, so effortless to fall in love with her because if you really ask yourself, she's everything you need and more.

She's everything you're going to want, ever going to _need,_ and that scares the crap out of you.

Because it means that there's more for you to lose.

If you fuck up, if you hurt her, if you push her away, you're not _just_ doing all that to the person who has your heart, you're doing all that to your _best friend._ If you screw up, which you know there is a high chance of you doing because it's _you, _you're going to lose yourself. You're going to break and crumble, and you know people who suffer like that never truly recover, and it terrifies you.

But it doesn't mean you can fight it. You're falling for her, hard and fast, and there's nothing you can do to stop it from happening.

So taking in a deep breath, you try to steady your thoughts and lean forward, your lips pressing to the skin of Brittany's shoulder gently, nose stroking the spot first, and your eyes close as you let your kiss linger, your arm sneaking across her lower back to rest there.

As you pull away, ready to settle down and try to find the sleep you desperately want to rid your thoughts, Brittany shifts and grabs your wrist, using you as an anchor to help her curl against your body and tuck her head beneath your chin, muttering sleepily and incoherently. A small smile graces your lips, and her hand drops yours, letting your arm drape around her body as she sneaks her own arm between your bodies, filling the space so there's nothing between you.

You just hold her tightly.

Because it's the only thing you can do.

/

You wake up in the morning to an empty bed.

You can't really remember when you fell asleep. All you know is you fell asleep with Brittany in your arms and your lips pressed against her hair, and you really can't try to figure out what sort of time you drifted off now that you're smiling at the memory of Brittany's body pressed against you and that's all that really matters.

You rub over your eyes with balled fists, trying to rid the ache from behind them and you sit up, cracking your neck and rolling your shoulders to work the kinks out of them. You really are sore, but it's in the most fantastic way and you'd happily repeat last night again and again, even if you had to feel like this when you woke up.

It was just _that _amazing, and you know you're thinking the same thing over and over, but you really fucking mean it.

It feels like you've made progress with something you thought was a lost cause.

And _boy, _does that feel good.

Anyway, you roll out of bed, swing your legs over the side of it and stretch your arms above you, your bones popping back into place as you move about. You find your boxers and sleep shirt draped haphazardly over the armchair across from you, so you stand and grab them, slipping them on before you walk out your room and begin buttoning up your shirt. Your fingers work at that whilst your feet lead you down the stairs, and by the last step you hear light, glorious laughter coming from the two best women in your life.

You smile down at yourself, shaking your head a little because there's no way in hell you're ever going to tire of hearing them, and follow the chuckling into the kitchen where you find your mom and Brittany, stood at the stove, cooking breakfast. Your skin little begins tingling when your eyes land on the blonde, and you hold back the urge to head on over to her, wrap your arms around her waist and kiss her in greeting; instead choosing to let out a low laughter when your mom begins singing along to the radio and bumps her hips with Brittany, before lifting both hands in the air and waving them about in what you can only assume to be some type of dance.

They look ridiculous, but you can't help but grin because they also look like they've known each other for years, not days.

You feel like Brittany belongs her.

The though makes you jolt, that fear you felt from last night griping your chest again and you clear your throat before you speak.

"Britt could out dance you any day, ma," you announce, leaning against the doorway casually, and both women jerk and jump around, eyes flashing to you; but you only meet the blue pair and listen to your heart skip a beat.

"I don't know, San," Brittany replies first, bumping her hips with your mom again and scrunching up her face, her tongue stuck out and trapped between her teeth. "She's got some moves."

"I do," Maribel quickly agrees, pressing her hand to her heart. "Your father used to take me out dancing all the time," she sighs, clearly reminiscing and you move to the kitchen table, taking a seat so you can watch her and Brittany. "He taught me everything I know."

"That would explain your lack of skill then," you retort and your mom shoots you a sharp look, but Brittany just muffles a giggle by sucking in her lips and ducking her chin to her chest. _God, _she's adorable.

"_Anyway,_" Maribel starts, feigning frustration in her tone. "It's about time you finally got up."

Your brow creases, eyes flitting to the clock to check the time. "It's like 7am," you reply, twisting your face in confusion eyes squinting and lips parting. Why are you getting shit if you're the first one up? Bar Brittany and your mom, obviously. "And I don't see anyone else here?"

"They're still asleep." Maribel waves her hand behind her as she cooks something on the stove. You glance at Brittany, giving her an incredulous expression, one that says _what the fuck?_ but Brittany just grins in response, lifting a shoulder and making your heart flutter and flip like it has a mind of its own. _Damn. _You're kind of crazy about this girl. "And Brittany here was just telling me about your visit to the beach yesterday."

Your eyes snap to your mom, but then drift back to Brittany who's staring at you like she's not sure whether to smile or feel guilty. "Oh, did she now?"

"_Mmhmm,_" Maribel hums in confirmation and shares a look with Brittany. "She was telling me how much she enjoyed it."

Your face splits into a grin, you just can't help it, and Brittany ducks her head a little more, trying to hide her own grin but you still see it. You don't answer for a few long seconds, instead let yourself dwell in the memories of yesterday and how you felt watching the sun go down, whilst you were kissing and holding the most perfect women in the entire world. Now that you think about it, you honestly think that yesterday, from the beginning to the very end, it was quite possibly the best day you've ever had. Like, _ever._

"Yeah," you finally breathe, averting your gaze, a little shy of you clearly overjoyed expression as you rub the back of your neck. "It was pretty amazing."

Maribel giggles and you and Brittany share a knowing smile because you both know you're lowering it down by saying yesterday was 'pretty amazing.' If you were being honest, it was fucking _fantastic, _and both of you know it.

Though you're so involved in staring at Brittany, gazing like you're sharing a secret (you kind of are), that you don't even realize your mom's watching both of you, her head tilting to the side and lips sucking in like she's proud.

"Okay, you two," your mom cuts in and you break the eye contact you had with Brittany to look at her. "Brittany," Maribel starts and her eyes lock on to the blonde, her hand lifting and finger pointing toward you. "Stop what you're doing and go sit with Santana."

Brittany's face twists, her eyes darting to the stove. "But, Mari—"

"No, no," your mom says, cutting off Brittany who's attempting to reach for the stove to continue cooking by standing in front of her. "Go and sit with her and I'll cook the rest."

You watch how Brittany's eyebrows furrow, and even though you want nothing more than for Brittany to join you, you know she doesn't want to stop helping because Brittany's just like that. She likes helping, and she likes bonding with people and you know she secretly likes that she would've made you breakfast, but you don't mention that. Instead you just bite down on your lip to try to reduce the smile playing there, and jerk your head back when Brittany looks at you, silently beckoning her over.

She slumps, a little defeated, and sets down the spatula in hand before skipping over to you, brightening up the second you reach out and tug her into the seat next to you by her hand. She leans in quickly, pecking your cheek and you feel the blood rush to your face. Fuck. You really don't know how she can still make you blush. Though you suppose last night probably has a lot to do with it.

"Hey," she whispers, pulling back and squeezing your hand.

You twist your body to the right, giving your full attention to her and give her a soft smile. "Hi," you murmur, your eyes dropping to her lips because you _really _want to kiss her right now, but your mom is like _right there _and so you hold back on the urge, instead choosing to cash it in later. Brittany seems to get it, because she smiles bashfully and tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, fluttering her lashes a bit. Okay, that's two kisses to cash in.

You're going to have to keep a mental count on this.

"Okay, break it up," your mom jokes and you both snap your heads around to find your mom setting two plates down on the table on the mats in front of you and Brittany. You duck your head, a little embarrassed, and let your eyes slide to the right to find Brittany doing the same as you, though her ears are turning pink, cheeks, too. "Here's your breakfast."

Your eyes widen as you glance down at your plate, because it's not pancakes or waffles like you were expecting; instead, your plate has eggs and bacon on it, but as you look a little closer, you realize that there's your favorite breakfast meal on there, too.

"You made eggs in a basket for me?" You ask your mom, tilting your head up to meet her gaze. She never makes you that. Like, you can actually count on one hand how many times in your entire life she's cooked you this, so you can say you're a little suspicious and not seem ungrateful.

"No, mija," she says, shaking her head, a soft smile curving her lips. "Brittany did," she corrects and her eyes shift to Brittany.

You just turn to her, affection gripping your chest because you didn't know she knew your favorite breakfast food. You don't think you've ever told her that, and you can tell she's blushing harder because now her ears are a bright pink, yet you just smile gratefully, feeling a mix of emotions—disbelief, pride, adoration, gratitude—because _God, _you don't even know how someone can be this fucking perfect and be _real. _

So you lean over, moving the hand she's already holding beneath the table and set it on her thigh, adding a bit of pressure to catch her attention (instead of giving into the almost overwhelming urge to grab her face and kiss her in thanks) until she glances up at you, shyly.

"You made me my favorite breakfast?" You whisper, your eyes shining over and _fuck, _you're getting choked up because she made you eggs in a basket. When did you get so pathetic?

Brittany just lifts a shoulder and offers a half-smile, her eyes shining with uncertainty. "I know it's your favorite," she whispers and bites down on her lip, her eyes darting between you and your mom, who's still standing there. Can't she just go away for a second? You could really do with kissing Brittany right now.

"You just—how... I," you stutter and shake your head, closing your eyes.

You try to convey what you want to say with your eyes, hoping she can work you out but you feel your mom shift beside you and lift her eyebrows, squeaking, "What was that, Santana?" impatiently.

You roll your eyes, suddenly wishing you could banish your mom from the kitchen with a magic trick or some shit, but instead just look at her pointedly, then glance back at Brittany. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice softer than you've ever known and your expression even softer. You take in a shallow breath and feel your chest swell with pride, affection and something else you're going to pretend you're not feeling at the moment. You're scared if you do it'll end up with a three worded confession blurted out in the heat of the moment. "It's amazing."

Brittany giggles and shrugs as if to say it's no big deal, and you stare at each other, the smiles growing across your faces and your hands both ducking beneath the table to grab at each others; but then your mom claps loudly, and both of you jump, losing some of the grip on your hands as you whip your heads around.

"Eat up now, girls," Maribel comments, pointing down at their plates. "You don't want the beautifully cooked food to get cold, do you?" She smirks and throws you a wink.

Both you and Brittany duck your head, tucking your chins to your chests and giggle, but then Brittany scoots closer, and you shift so she can hook her ankle around yours and you can grab her hand on her thigh, tangling your fingers together beneath the table as you begin eating together, you with your left hand and Brittany with her right.

You two steal shy glances throughout your meal, punctuating them with appreciative moans at the taste of the food.

/

All good things come to an end; which sucks because this weekend has been so amazing words won't even do it justice.

The only flight you could get for Brittany and yourself was an early afternoon one, so you're kind of glad that you were up at seven this morning because now you can pack and say all your goodbyes without rushing.

Both you and Brittany stand in your bedroom, Brittany lounging on the bed, staring at you like you're the most perfect thing in the world whilst you pack away your stuff; and then you both move into Brittany's room and you switch places, you lying back on the bed against the headboard, whilst you watch Brittany's movements, your eyes following her and praising her because even doing something as mundane as packing, she manages to make it look like a freaking art.

Admittedly, you do get a little distracted when she has to bend over to pick a few items off the floor, and end up lunging for her and dragging her back to the bed, urging her on top of you and losing your giggle against her mouth as her fingers get lost in your hair and she sucks the breath straight from your lungs with a kiss; but eventually both you and Brittany get packed up and your dad's calling up the stairs to tell you, you need to leave.

You say your goodbyes, and you wrap your arm possessively around Brittany's waist, holding her close to you when she gives the three little perverts a hug and a kiss on the cheek, but then you're waving and climbing into the back of your dads car, sliding your arm around Brittany's shoulders and pulling her into your side as your dad drives you to the airport.

It's a little more emotional with him, because even though you love your mom to bits, you've always been a bit of a daddy's girl, and so Brittany takes a step back when you're standing outside the airport entrance and you hug it out with your dad, promising him that you'll come back soon. He nods against your hair and kisses your forehead when you pull back, and you sniffle a little and smack him on the shoulder when you see his eyes gloss over, trying to make the situation playful; but he just shrugs and hugs you tightly one more time before he climbs back in the car and drives off.

Then you head into the airport and a few hours later, you're touching down at JFK and you're waking Brittany up with a kiss to her temple to tell her you're here. She smiles, yawns and stretches her arms above her head, and you sit back for a minute, watching her muscles flex, watching that little slither of skin appear between her jeans and t-shirt, and how she licks her lips and you can't help yourself when she glances at you and asks a little self-consciously why you're staring at her, and lean in to kiss her once, softly, your hand lingering on her jaw.

Because you're back to normality now. You don't even know what that is but you know you're back to it and when you pull away, Brittany follows you and presses your mouths back together, a little harder, the kiss feeling a little final, and you stay like that until an air hostess is tapping you on the shoulder and telling you that it's time to get off the plane. You didn't even realize everyone had left, and you and Brittany both blush and chuckle as you grab your bags from the overhead compartment and head on out, ignoring the glares the cabin crew shoot you both.

You hail a taxi and tell him Brittany's address as you want to make sure she gets home safe, and when you pull up outside her apartment building half an hour later, you tell the driver to stay in the taxi and wait whilst you get Brittany's bags for her. Of course that makes the blonde blush and twirl her foot around in circles, a little bashful by the suggestion, and you just giggle and roll your eyes playfully before you climb out and help her with her bags, taking them up to her apartment and dropping them inside her door before you two come face to face, hands clutched and hanging between you two.

"So," you breathe, realizing how much you don't want to leave. Maybe if you just ran downstairs, grabbed your bags and handed the taxi driver some cash you could come back up here and lock you and Brittany away in her bedroom for a while. Just forget about work, about friends and about questions and complications and just be with her; like you have this weekend. Though you do acknowledge the flaws in that situation. "Guess I shouldn't keep the taxi waiting."

Brittany chews on her lip, her eyes flickering down and back up again. "Guess so," she agrees, sadness lacing her tone and words coming out through a long exhale. "We're working together tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah," you agree and tilt your head to the side, narrowing your eyes. You can feel the words bubbling up your throat, and you suddenly have this need to tell her how much you enjoyed this weekend. How much you loved it and how incredible it was just because of her. It's a burning urge, curdling in the center of your chest and you gulp, your throat suddenly thick and breathe a little harder because you feel like you're saying so much more than just a thank you. "Britt, I─"

"Thank you for this weekend," Brittany cuts in and your mouth snaps shut. "It was..." her voice trails off as her eyes lower to your intertwined hands. "It was amazing," she picks up her sentence and brings her vision back to yours, her fingers tightening around your own. You can see something lingering behind her eyes, maybe a sentence she wants to say, or an emotion she's hiding, but you can't find it within you to ask what it is. You don't even know why, either. "So, just... thank you, Santana. I─I had the best time."

The corners of your lips curve up because as you shift closer, she automatically wets her lips and is meeting you halfway. You weren't even really intending to kiss her just yet; you were going to say something about how this weekend really was the best weekend of your entire life, and that she was the one that caused that, but you really don't mind now that her lips are on yours and she's smiling against your mouth, her hands gripping yours and thumb stroking over the back of your fingers at the same time her tongue strokes against your bottom lip.

But then she pulls away, your neck craning forward to keep the contact, but she just backs away further and you're a little light-headed as you grin, dazed, your eyes focusing back on her face, finding bright blue and glowing skin.

"You can thank me anytime if you thank me like that," you reply and a grin spreads across Brittany's face, tugging at her lips and making the corners of her eyes crinkle as she lets out the most heavenly giggle. The sound makes your heart leap and you drop her hands, choosing to slide them around her waist as you bring her in for a hug, tucking your chin over her shoulder and letting her arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you so close your bodies could mold into one. "But thank _you_," you whispers, wanting to get your point out. She has no idea how grateful you are for her coming with you. "I had the best time, too," you continue and pull out the hug a little to stare in her eye, the tips of your noses bumping you're so close. "Because of you."

Something in her face falters, and for a second you freeze, scared you've said too much but then her eyes are glossing over and she's sucking in her lips as she turns her head, and you know that it was definitely the _right _thing to say. So without another word, you lift one hand up to her face, press the tips of your fingertips to the underside of her jaw and urge her face back to yours, keeping your eyes locked on hers as you lean forward and kiss her again, just once, through a smile. Her lips mirror yours, and at the same time, both yours and Brittany's eyes close shut as the kiss lingers, your lungs getting their intake of air through your nose.

"You really need to go," Brittany mumbles against your mouth, and even though she's saying those words she doesn't sound like she means them.

You laugh a little, kissing her. "You don't sound too convincing."

"I am," Brittany tries to fight but you just press your lips against her, silencing her and clearly she doesn't have a problem as her arms wind around your neck, pulling you closer to her until your nose is pressing far into her cheek. You two kiss, and kiss for a little more, then kiss for a little longer after that but there's a little voice in the back of your mind telling you that there is a taxi waiting outside and you've already been up here way too long and the fare's going to be a bitch so you really need to get going.

"Okay, okay, okay," is muffled into Brittany's lips and you force yourself to take your hands away from her hips, clasping them behind your back because if you have a hold on her, you definitely _won't _let her go. "I need to go."

She nods into the kiss, but her hands are now sliding to your face and cupping your cheeks and even though your body's stepping away, she's leaning forward and you're still kissing, her lips brushing over yours and then sucking in your bottom lip until you're moaning into the kiss, squeezing your eyes shut and wishing that you'd told the taxi driver to go home because there's nothing inside of you that wants to leave. And you may be speaking for her, but you're one hundred percent sure she feels the same way if the way her fingers are stroking over the skin of your cheek and the lips on yours are anything to go by.

_Fuck. _You really _are_ crazy about this girl.

"Britt," you whine, and she grins against your mouth, finally breaking the kiss with one final peck. You know you don't have the resolve to stop kissing her, so if you're going to leave she's going to have to make you. Although you're sort of wishing she'd just say _fuck the taxi _and slam the door before ravishing you against it.

"Okay," she sighs and pulls back, straightening up and dropping her hands from your face, her lips sucking into her mouth. "You need to go."

You cock your eyebrow as if to say _really? _but she just scrunches her nose up at you. "I do," you pout and back out the door until you're in the hallway and she's leaning against the door, head tilted to the side and soft, blue eyes focused on your face. "But I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," she agrees after swallowing, her eyes flickering momentarily to your lips. "Bye, San."

"Bye, Britt," you say, breathing out the word as you walk backward down the hallway toward the elevator, your eyes on her the entire way.

"Bye," she repeats and smiles, and you feel like you've smoked something because you're all kinds of fluffy.

You press the button and bite down on your bottom lip. "Bye," you mutter again through a grin, your eyes never straying from blue ones.

"Bye, Santana," she draws out, rolling her eyes playfully, her hand visibly tightening against the door and you grind your heel into the hallway floor because it's just _so _fucking tempting to run back to her and kiss her again. You know she's having a hard time _not _running to you and kissing you two, but you can't do that. You really should be going.

Finally, the elevator doors ding open and you know it's time for you to get in, so you wet your lips, holding back on the almost overwhelming urge to sprint back to her and instead step inside, keeping your eyes locked on to hers as the doors begin closing. When they're finally shut, you breathe out a long exhale and tilt your head back against the elevator wall, a slight thud echoing around the small box as you let our eyes shut, and you just let yourself feel who much your body's buzzing from Brittany.

And then you're back to thinking about Brittany, and you blow out your cheeks, a soft smile playing at your lips as you think about how amazing you feel right now and you step outside and head back to the taxi waiting outside.

You don't even care that the cab fare is an obscene amount of money; it was totally worth spending just that little bit more time with Brittany.

/

Quinn bombards you with questions the second you get into work.

You roll your eyes and walk past her to the back room, hanging up your coat and taking your apron off the hook before you head back out and begin making the few coffees already waiting for you by the machine. Luckily, there's a few more customers so you get to dodge the questions, giving you a little time to come up with some made up answers and gives you time to calm yourself so you don't go into panic mode when she serves the last customer and fires more questions at you.

And it works, because after you make a venti skinny mocha with a shot of hazelnut and hand it over to the pretentious asshole who's talking on the phone about a piece of art he saw last night at a gallery showing, suddenly wishing you'd spat in his coffee as he just snarls at you and walks away without a thank you or a smile, you let out a long sigh and turn to your blonde friend, starting a rapid fire exchange. She asks you about your family, your mom and cousins in particular, and then jokes about how hot Roman would find Brittany, and you just nod, trying not to seem to knowing about that topic.

The questions soon die out, and you do get a little suspicious toward the end because her voice suddenly gets a lot softer and she leans back against the counter, wiping over the whipped cream can in hand as she asks, "So it was a good weekend then?"

And it's not like Quinn's not kind or anything because you know she'd ask you questions, but the _way _she's asking you is making something spike beneath your skin and blood rush to your face because you feel like you've been caught; even though there's no way she _could _know.

Though before you can even answer, the bell above the door chimes and you peer over the coffee machine to find bright blue eyes gleaming back on you as Brittany skips in, her ponytail swinging as she bounces through the store, not even bothering to wink at the guy she normally does. For a strange reason it makes you feel a little better─usually your stomach drops when she acknowledges that guy─so you just grin triumphantly and it's only when she's greeting Quinn then throwing you a wink, out of Quinn's sight of course, that you realize you still haven't answered your friend.

So you clear your throat, bringing your fist up to your mouth and knit your eyebrows together as your eyes flicker from left to right. "Yeah, it was pretty good," you finally reply, meeting hazel eyes again.

Quinn studies you, her eyes narrowing further and further until she finally says, "Pretty good? Is that it?"

It's at that moment Brittany bounces in from the back room, her black polo tight around her torso, her grin bright and eyes sparkling as they meet your brown ones, and you find yourself not even bothering to use your filter, or even look back to Quinn as you correct yourself with, "Actually, it was incredible."

Brittany pauses from where she's stacking some paper cups and her eyes slide to yours, meeting them and filling your chest with warmth and happiness. You bite down on your lip, unable to hide your smile as your mind reels with memories of this weekend, of kissing her on the beach at sunset to falling asleep with her in your arms and her meeting your family and them falling in love with her to _making love_ (because yeah, that's definitely what it was) to her in the dead of the night.

It was just amazing. All of it. And you have this tugging in the center of your chest that tells you, you want to go back and relive it again.

"Great," Quinn finally speaks up and your face gets hot when you snap your gaze back to her, realizing you and Brittany were just staring at each other blatantly, but Quinn seems none the wiser as she gets back to the counter and serves the next customer.

So you breathe out a sigh of relief, and for the rest of your shift, you and Brittany exchange bashful glances because you really can't think of anything that's wrong with your life.

/

A few days later, you get a text from Brittany asking you to come over, and seeing as you're lounging around with papers spread around you, ones that you're _supposed _to be reading but ones you just can't be bothered to read, you think why not and head on over.

(Not that you wouldn't if you hadn't had papers spread all around you, but you're trying not to be so eager these days when Brittany asks you to come over because your feelings haven't changed and you're not ignoring them, but you're trying not to constantly think about them and it's kind of hard to do that when you're leaping at the chance to see Brittany.)

So you take your time, casually strolling to her apartment instead of giving into the burning urge pulsing through your muscles to sprint there or get a taxi, and walk up the stairs instead of taking the elevator when you're finally in her building. You're cool, you don't lose your shit over anyone, no matter how you feel about them, and so you take in a few breaths before rapping your knuckles on Brittany's door and waiting patiently.

You really need to chill out and you know, preferably _not _fall even harder for her; you don't want to ruin your friendship with her.

Though the second she pulls open the door, you know that's not going to be possible. Every time you see her she somehow manages to take your breath away.

You offer a smile instead of a greeting, a smile that you know comes from the heart because you can feel your eyes beaming and she grins, a little dazed at you before reaching out, wrapping her hands around the lapels of your leather jacket and pulling you inside, kissing you before you can even say hello with words. It's slow, and gentle, and your hands drop to her hips, pulling her closer as she kicks the door shut and you both stumble a little further into her apartment, your tongue sliding into her mouth and producing the most arousing of noises from Brittany.

"Hi," she finally pants, heavy and hot against your mouth as she squashes your noses together.

You grin, a little dopey, and now you can feel her hand at the back of your neck, keeping your heads together. "Hey," you breathe out, unevenly.

She giggles and closes the space between you again quickly before stepping away and sliding her fingers through yours as she pulls you down the hallway toward the bedroom. It's only been a few days since you two have been together alone, because you've had to study for an exam you've got coming up soon and Brittany's been covering Will as he's off doing something boring with his hideous sweater vests, and so the only time you've seen each other was when you went over to Quinn's for dinner or when you've shared a shift.

It's sucked because you haven't been able to kiss her in the way you wanted to for forty-eight hours, but you know that now is going to make up for it. Just by seeing Brittany and kissing her, it's _already_ made up for it.

"I've missed you," you blurt out and Brittany blinks at you three times, processing the words before she reacts; her lips curving up and eyes sparkling.

"I've missed you, too," she replies and loops her arms around your neck, pulling you in as she ducks her head to kiss you.

You two kiss slowly, your lips just moving against each other until your hands begin stroking up and down her back, feeling her, touching her, moving over the curves you've memorized and worshiped, and then you realize that you haven't had Brittany in days; and it's not like you're bursting from sexual frustration or anything, but it's really hard not to get worked up quickly when it's _Brittany_ working you up.

You think she knows that too, because she doesn't jolt in the slightest when your hands slip down to her ass, pulling her hips into yours, instead she giggles into your mouth and goes with the movement. The sound is so infectious, so spine-chilling, but in the good way, that you kiss her a little deeper, your hands squeezing and repeating your previous movements until the giggles turn into breathy moans and her fingers are sliding through your hair and tugging at the roots — the tell-tale sign that she wants you and wants to get on with it.

And you go to do just that, crouching down just the slightest, with the intention of hooking your hands around her thighs and picking her up, allowing those long legs to wrap around your waist, but then she's smirking against your mouth and pushing lightly at your shoulders and you're pulling back, the most confused expression your face because you thought things were going _that _way. The bulge in your pants would certainly say that.

"What?" You ask breathlessly, knitting your eyebrows together and twisting your face as your eyes roam over hers. "I thought we were gonna..." You trail off, your head turning and vision flicking toward the bed.

"We are," Brittany nods and cups your neck, her fingers toying with the fine hairs at the back. "But first, I've got a surprise."

There's something seductive in her voice, and you feel it shoot straight to your groin until you can feel the physical ache, the physical need to get off hitting you hard in the gut. But you can't fight the curiosity that mixes in with the arousal because you like surprises. Especially when they're to do with beautiful blondes. No, scratch that, especially when they're to do with _Brittany._

"A surprise?"

Brittany bites her bottom lip, smirking as she nods. "A surprise," she confirms through a breath and kisses you softly, sucking on your top lip. "So get comfortable and I'll be out in a second," she winks, trailing a finger down the side of your neck, along your collarbone and then through your cleavage, her eyes following the trail before she spins away and disappears into the en-suite bathroom, closing the door behind her.

You stand there for a few moments, your breathing hard and heavy and eyes wide because _fuck, _you are _so _turned on right now, but you finally kick yourself into action and turn toward the bed, eying it. There's nothing special about it; there's no rose petals spread across it or candles lit up around the room, so you're kind of relieved that you haven't forgotten anything—not that you have anything to forget like an anniversary because you and Brittany totally _aren't _together—but it's still perking your interest because you're not sure what this surprise is.

Though you suppose staring at a bed isn't going to help figure it out, so you think about Brittany's words and how she told you to get comfortable and so you do just that; stripping yourself down until you're in your boxers and your bra. That's your kind of comfort, and you're kind of getting the vibe from the way she kissed you and from the fact that you two haven't had sex since Sunday (and it's Wednesday) that this 'surprise' is where it's going to lead.

So you go ahead and climb on to the bed after switching off the lights. You rearrange the pillows against the headboard so you can lean against them, half-propped up and fold your hands across your stomach, letting them rest there as you glance around the room, waiting for her.

And it's only seconds later that the bathroom door's opening and a slither of light is beaming in, revealing and glorifying Brittany for all that she is; because she's standing there, white, silk robe hanging open, arm resting above her head on the door frame and the heel of her right foot pressed into the arch of the other, posing to show off what she's wearing.

Which _holy fucking shit, _is quite possibly the sexiest black lingerie set you've ever seen.

"Brittany," you breathe out, your mouth and throat running dry as you scoot toward the edge of the bed, throwing your legs off the side of it and balling the sheets in your fists, the need to hold her, to touch her, almost too strong. "Fuck."

It's the only word you can use to describe your feelings right now as your eyes roam over the body that must have been created by the Gods because you really don't know how to describe how you feel.

On one hand you know you're fully hard and you'd like nothing more than to grab Brittany, rip the lingerie from her body and the boxers from your own and bury yourself hilt deep within her to show her how she makes you feel; but on the other hand, you just want to stare and admire her because she's just _so _fucking perfect. You want to run your fingertips over her body, remember every freckle, every dimple, every twitch of her stomach and how her skin feels when you kiss it, how warm she feels beneath you; and you're so torn between choosing that you just end up sitting there, mouth almost as wide as your eyes as you stare at her.

It's only when you hear a low, sultry chuckle that you snap back to reality and find Brittany coming toward you, her long legs winding in and out with grace as she saunters across her room, hanging her arms back and letting the silk robe slip from her skin and pool at her heels. Her eyes are dark and focused, and you gulp loudly as your gaze moves down her body again, taking in the sexy underwear that covers Brittany's most intimate places. And you know you're staring, but you really don't care; not when she's stopping in front of you, presenting herself and letting your eyes do another trail of her body.

Except when you do it again, you take your time, starting from her feet and follow the line of her legs, taking in soft, pale skin and toned calf and thigh muscles. You move up, your eyes lingering on the small, silk panel covering the front of her and you ache to reach out and touch her. But she's so marvelous, so perfect that you fear if you press your fingertips to the silk, to the black lace that connects the back of her panties to the front, she'll disappear and wither away, because she's so beautiful she must be a dream.

So instead you just stare in awe until you can't stare anymore, and your hands are lifting and settling on her hips so lightly that later, you're sure you'll wonder if you ever touched her, and your fingertips are stroking over her skin, smoothing around until you find a small, triangular silk piece covering the top of Brittany's ass, just like the front silk piece covers the front.

And it's a thing of beauty, it really is, because even though you've seen Brittany naked a hundred times over, there's something about seeing her in underwear that makes your groin tingle and toes curl; because _you're _the only one to see these parts that are hidden.

They're yours, and okay, maybe they're not _officially _yours but neither of you have slept with anyone else for four months and that's enough to say that you're the only one who sees behind these small pieces of silk.

Brittany smiles at you secretly, her breath just as swift and heavy as yours but you're too busy finishing your trail, moving your gaze up the dip in her abs, between her cleavage and to the bra, which much like her thong, has silk panels covering the most intimate parts. Pieces of the fabric acts as the cup, covering the lower half of Brittany's breasts and her nipples, but it's strapless and the band that swoops around to connect it fully is black lace; but you honestly think it wouldn't matter what material it was or what it looked like... Brittany makes _anything _look amazing.

(Though you're really appreciating this lingerie.)

Hands come down to settle over yours, keeping them where they linger around Brittany's hips and it urges your eyesight up until you're staring up through your lashes at piercing, blue eyes. It makes you gasp, because she's staring at you with that intensity again, the one you saw right before you two made love and it makes something lodge in your throat. It's going to take some time to get used to that.

"It's for you," is all that she whispers, but her voice is quivering with nerves and you watch the anxiousness flash across her features.

You pull yourself to your feet, only realizing now how shaky your limbs are and breathe out unsteadily when you come face to face, a reassuring smile coming across your face as your hand pushes back a lock of her hair. You want to tell her that it's okay, but you're feeling equally as nervous as she is and so instead of using words, you let your eyes drop to trail over her body one more time, taking her in, before you come back to her eyes, study the way her lips quirk like she wants to smile and then you bring your mouths together with a hand at the back of her neck and kiss her.

And just like that, all the nerves disappear and you walk her back to the bed, smiling against her mouth as you land on top of her.

/

When you're taking off her thong a little while later, dusting kisses up her leg and watching her chest heave and eyes bore down at you from the top of the bed, her words come back to you and your lips still against the inside of her thigh.

_It's for you._

You don't know why, and you have no evidence to show that it was what you're thinking, but it just felt like she was telling you more, that she was _giving _you more than just her body and that very sexy (and most likely very _expensive_) set of lingerie. It felt like she was trying to tell you something without words; like the nerves she felt, the way her hands were quaking as they were settled over yours, weren't because she was standing there, showing something that was purposely bought for you; but rather because she was trying to show and give you something more.

Though your thoughts are swiftly interrupted when hands grab at your shoulders and tug you up, your body draping back over Brittany's. You look down at her, her lips swollen, hair tousled, skin flushed and it rips the breath straight from your lungs because you want what you're thinking to be true. You want Brittany to tell you that _she's _for you; not just the lingerie, or her body, but that _she's _giving her you.

But before you can even process your thoughts, there's a hand winding around your neck, tugging you down to kiss and a hand making its way down your stomach and beneath the waistband of your boxers, fingers wrapping around your hard cock, stroking languidly.

And it's kind of hard to really think about anything else when she's doing that to you, but you know that right now, _this _is what you want.

You don't want anyone else touching you.

You don't want anyone else touching _her. _

You just want Brittany. All of her. _Just _her. For as long as time will allow.

And as you tilt your hips, slick heat encompassing you and covering your entire shaft as you push inside of her, and as you watch in awe as her head snaps back against the pillow, pleasure taking over her features, you realize you've got to make her yours as soon as possible.

But not tonight.

Tonight, you're going to make love to her.

(What's the harm in waiting, right?)

/

You're rudely awoken to the sound of your phone vibrating loudly on Brittany's bedside table.

You whine quietly, the grogginess tugging at your eyelids and you're so fucking tempted to just leave it because you're tired, you have work tomorrow and you've got Brittany pressed into your front so you're more than good right now, but then you open your eyes and find that it's still pitch black and immediately you wonder who the hell it could be. And why would they be ringing you in the middle of the night?

So reluctantly, you wiggle your arm out from where it's trapped beneath Brittany's, slung over her waist and holding her against you, and pull back your hips, goosebumps immediately spreading across your bare body, to roll on to your back and grab at your phone. The light from the screen immediately blinds you, and you cover one of your eyes, thinking that'd help so you can focus on the caller ID and you swear this better be fucking good because otherwise you're going to go ape shit.

But then you find Mike's name flashing up on screen, and something seizes in your chest because you have a funny feeling you already know what's going on.

"Mike?" You breathe, picking up the phone. "Mike, what's wrong?"

"_It's happening,_" he says and you blink. Shit. You were right. _"It's happening, Santana!"_

He sounds all kinds of tired, but you can hear the underlying tone of excitement there and immediately bolt up right, completely untangling yourself from Brittany as you process what's going on.

"She's in labor?" You squeak and you hear Mike chuckle down the line, affirming your suspicions. "Holy shit!"

"_She wants the gang here," _he tells you and you see in your peripheral vision as Brittany stirs and rolls, her arm sliding across your lap and face nuzzling into the protrusion of your hipbone. _"I know it's early, but can you come down here?"_

You're still a little groggy, but now your heart's racing a mile a minute because you have to admit, you've been waiting for this moment. Sure, you're not exactly best buddies with Tina, but she's the first out of the gang to have a kid and that's a pretty big thing. You still can't believe the months have gone so quickly, but that's neither here nor there.

"Of course," you agree and stroke your free hand over Brittany's face, hoping to wake her a little. Although you do get a little distracted by how beautiful and peaceful she looks in her sleep and take a beat too long to answer. Damn it. "We'll be there as soon as possible."

Mike thanks you, missing your little slip up of 'we', and you both say goodbye before you hang up. You throw your phone back on to the side table and shimmy your way back down on the bed, lying down and tugging Brittany's arm so she lies half on top of you. You know you should be getting up and getting dressed, but it's really hard to do that when Brittany's nudging her nose against your jaw, pressing a pacifying kiss to the underside and asking you in the cutest, sleepiest tone who was on the phone.

"It was Mike," you whisper, stroking her hair with your left hand and smoothing your right hand up and down her arm which is draped across your chest. "Tina's going into labor."

In a split second, Brittany's jumping up, her hair tangled and eyes wide, and the sheet drops from her chest, revealing her in all her glory and you gasp, a little shocked by the sudden movement but prop yourself up on your elbows, taking in the sight of all that pale skin. What you wouldn't do for another round right now.

"SHE'S IN LABOR!?" Brittany screeches, whipping her head around.

You chuckle, a little thrown off by the reaction but reach for her arm. "Yeah, babe," you blurt out the term of endearment without even realizing. "But calm down."

"SHOULDN'T WE BE GOING?" She continues, looking all kinds of distressed and you frown. Damn. She ain't the one having the baby.

"Yeah, but I didn't want to startle you with the news," you try to calm her down by pulling her back down and she sinks into your arms, cuddling up and staring up at you again as you lean over her. "But apparently that didn't work," you add, kissing her lightly on the nose.

She giggles and lifts her head as you back away to suck at your bottom lip for a few seconds. "We really should get going," she mumbles against your mouth before dropping her head back against the pillow with a sad smile.

You know, and so you roll your eyes and lean back down, kissing her once before completely pulling away and climbing off the bed to get dressed hastily.

And even though you would've preferred to just spend the rest of the night getting your cuddle on (and not necessarily in the sexy way) instead of going to the hospital at two o'clock in the morning, when Brittany beams an excited smile your way, you figure that okay, as long as you're with her, you guess it's not _that _bad.

So you get dressed and leave, hand in hand as you head off to the hospital together.

(You don't even think about how you're going to explain why you turned up together.)

/

**And here is where the plot picks up. Hold on to your hats readers and get ready for this ride.**

**Hope you enjoyed and if so, please leave a review!**


	13. Chapter 12

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Twelve]  
**Rating: **NC-17**  
****Length: **9.4k

**Notes: **Holy shit guys your feedback is incredible! So many reviews for each chapter, it's awesome! Also, an anonymous reviewer said that apparently this fic has a similar plot to '_Summergold_' by bobbieyoung. I can tell you I'm following that fic and I love it myself, it's definitely _not_ like it. I can't even find similarities between it and I'd never copy someones work, especially one that I love. But thanks for trying to make me look bad anyway (:

/

You throw a few bills at the taxi driver when you get to the hospital and follow Brittany out the car. You're panting as you approach the desk and ask for Tina's room, but you don't even get a response because you hear yours and Brittany's name being called and turn to the left to find Quinn rushing toward you, her cheeks pink and eyes glassy. You wonder why, but then you suppose Quinn and Mike have always had a weird bond so it wouldn't surprise you if he rang her first and she's been here for a while.

"Brittany! Santana!" She calls and you give the nurse behind the desk a smile before walking over to your friend. "You're here!"

You look down at yourself and then back at her. "Looks like it," you retort sarcastically and she throws you a sharp look, but you can't help but make a remark about her appearance. "And may I say, Fabray, you really do look like a dream."

Quinn's face drops and you see Brittany suck in her lips to hide the giggle you know she wants to let out, but Brittany still tries to chide you by nudging your arm and shaking her head. But it was pretty funny and you're not going to lie, Quinn's hair is all over the place, she has no make up on and you're pretty sure she's in her pajamas beneath that big ass trench coat. At least you and Brittany had the mindset to get dressed, so you get to mock her. It's like a right as a best friend.

"Screw you," she spits and your eyes drift down to her side to find the little person you're so accustomed to seeing beside her _not _there.

"Where's Beth?"

"With Puck," she explains but then her head tilts and eyes narrow, flickering between the both of you. "Did you two arrive together?"

You tense up a little, but Brittany's there, shifting a little closer and shrugging. "We live like two blocks away from each other," she lies and if you didn't know it was a lie, you'd have a hard time calling it. "San rang me as soon as Mike called her and the taxi came by to pick me up."

Quinn nods, but she doesn't seem to buy it and folds her arms over her chest, chin tilting up. "The taxi came by to pick you up?"

You decide to chime in. You're getting used to lying to your friends and you think you're getting better at it. "Yeah," you agree with a firm bob of your head. "Is there a problem with that?"

"Huh," Quinn's eyes narrow and she studies you two for a long moment, twisting her face like she's trying to figure something out as she sucks her lips into her mouth. You have to admit, you do feel a little fear sink into your veins but you know that there's no way she could know that you two were together before coming here, and it makes you feel a little better.

You still wish she'd stop looking at you like she's _examining _you though. It's making you feel uneasy.

"No," she finally lands on, shaking her head and squinting at you fiercely. "There's no problem."

"Good," you quirk with a sharp lift of your eyebrow and it's at that moment, thank fuck, that the others (Rachel, Kurt, Sugar, Sam, Jake and Marley) all come barreling around the corner, all grinning at you. They take their turn in hugging you seeing as you haven't seen most of them for a while now, and you wonder whether they just flew back from their respective homes just because Tina asked for them all to be here, but then you realize that even if they did, you and Brittany are still the last here and you know that's making you look _super _suspicious.

But you just wave it off and when Rachel hooks her arm around Quinn's arm and drags her back down the hallway they all came from, the rest of the gang following shortly after, you pause and linger back a little, grabbing Brittany's arm when she moves to walk off. She whips her head around, brows knitted together but you just grin, sparing one last glance down the hall to make sure none of your friends have come back and you rock on to the balls of your feet, kissing her sweetly, just once.

"You're getting good at lying," she whispers again your mouth, pulling back and throwing you a wink.

You let out a short laugh because it's incredible how Brittany always knows what you're going to say. "Well, you could say I have a good teacher," you flirt back, biting your lip and fluttering your lashes.

She just rolls her eyes with a smile on her face and kisses you one last time. "You're such a goober," she replies and grabs your hands. "But come on, let's go see Tina."

You nod and let her lead the way, ignoring the way your stomach drops when she pulls her hand away as you find the others.

/

The hours go by and Tina doesn't show any signs of going into the delivery room, so it leaves you and the gang to just wait it out in the waiting room, tapping your feet nervously as you wait for news. Everyone takes their turns to go into the room and sit with Tina whilst Mike takes a nap, but after you switch for the third time, the doctor starts getting pissed and tells you it's family only which means Quinn has to wake a very tired Mike and ask him to go back in.

You think about complaining, maybe getting your dad to call in from Miami and make a formal complaint as he's known in the world of medicine, but Mike doesn't seem all that bothered by having to go back in and so you hold back on that urge, let your head loll back against the seat as Brittany flips through the pages of a three-week old magazine in the chair next to you and try not to smile when she begins humming '_Wouldn't It Be Nice' _by The Beach Boys.

She really is so wonderfully weird.

It manages to distract you for a while, and as these chairs are uncomfortable you don't even freak out when she swings her legs on to your lap and shifts a little closer, because you'd totally let Quinn or Sugar do this. Obviously you wouldn't get so much enjoyment from it and wouldn't subtly trace your finger around the bone of her ankle and smirk to yourself at the goosebumps that appear beneath your touch, but you'd still totally let them do it and so it seems as if you two are just being friendly.

But after Brittany switches from _The Beach Boys_ to humming The Beatles '_All You Need Is Love_' and picks up _The American Gardener _as there's nothing else to read, you decide that you need to get a coffee and stretch your legs. You're pretty much falling asleep here seeing as you and Brittany got through four rounds of mind-blowing sex before you both fell, spent to the mattress after the lingerie show.

So you tap Brittany's knee and when she glances up, meeting your eye with blue ones that sparkle the second they meet yours, you ask, a little breathless, "Do you want some coffee?"

She shakes her head, her eyes focused on yours and you can't help it when your eyes drop to her lips, the want to kiss her surging through you. But you know your friends are around, and you're pretty sure Quinn and Sugar have sneaked glances at you for the past three hours, so instead you settle for squeezing her calf and watch her nod, accepting that you can't kiss her before you push her legs aside gently and make your way to the cafeteria, rubbing the back of your neck to try to make the ache fade away.

You really need to tell her soon. Then you can kiss her whenever you want.

/

You grab a cup of coffee and a cookie, full well knowing Brittany's going to steal your cookie and most likely drink half your coffee, but you don't mind. You like the idea that she's that comfortable with you and so you go with it, concealing a smile on the walk back to the waiting room.

And as you do, your thoughts begin to spiral and you get this excitement growing within you because you know you're not going to be able to hide how you feel from her for too much longer. You don't want to, and it's not the best idea to do it here, at a hospital whilst your friend is having a baby, so you suppose you'll just wait a few days and then just tell her.

_God, _you're going to tell her you're falling for her. You're going to tell her how you feel and hopefully, you're going to make her yours.

You definitely can't hide the smile on your face now.

But as soon as you get back to the waiting room, you see something that sets you on edge and your hand grips your phone and coffee just that little tighter, your heart picking up its beat dangerously fast. Because you left Brittany here alone, humming _The Beatles_ and flipping through a freaking _gardening _magazine even though she has no interest in that whatsoever, and now you've come back to her sitting up right, body twisted and a grin pasted on her face as she talks to—

"Carl," you growl beneath your breath, your jaw clenching and piping hot jealousy pouring through your veins.

You don't even realize how hard you're gripping your coffee until a drop of scalding hot liquid seeps out from beneath the lid and lands on the side of your hand, burning your skin, and you jump in reaction, hissing at the pain as you drop your phone and hear it collide heavily with the floor. But you can't really care about that when Carl—fucking _Carl_—is sitting there with a stethoscope wrapped around his neck, his face broken into a grin and his arm leaning across the back of Brittany's chair.

(Somewhere in the back of your mind you're a little shocked he's a doctor because you're not entirely sure they taught medicine in the Ice Age, but whatever.)

In fact, you're so focused on scowling at a guy you thought Brittany had dealt with all those months ago that you don't see the attractive nurse coming up beside you and picking up your phone, tapping you on the arm and handing you it. You don't even take your eyes off fucking Grandpa and instead just mutters a grated "thanks" beneath your breath, completely missing the fluttering lashes and the way the nurse tries to catch your attention before she walks off, looking a little put off by your demeanor.

Even if you did catch the way she was looking at you, you wouldn't care and so taking in a deep breath, you steel yourself, clamp down your jaw and head on over to Brittany, deciding to sit down in a completely different place from where you left, two seats down from her and Carl. You don't even bother glancing their way, just keep your eyes set on the ground and you scroll through your phone like you're doing something, until you hear Brittany call your name and wonder whether it's too late to get up and walk away again.

But it is, so you roll your eyes, let out a huff and turn your head, lifting both eyebrows and pressing your lips together. "What?" You say, and it's not sharp or rude, it's just giving off a very unimpressed vibe.

Brittany must hear it because she shifts, her eyes flickering between Carl and you as the man twists in his seat, shooting you a warm smile that you instantly want to slap off his face.

"San, you remember Carl?" She asks, tentatively, gesturing between you and said man.

You nod curtly, unable to stop the side of your top lip curling a little with anger. "Yep," you retort in a clipped tone and say no more, just stare instead.

Carl shifts, uncomfortable beneath your gaze and clears his throat, clearly picking up on the fact that you don't want him here as he rises from the chair, brushing his hands down the front of his dark pants—he's one of those doctors with a shirt and smart pants, not scrubs that you could take the piss out of, unfortunately—and offers you a barely there smile and Brittany a wide grin and a bob of his head.

"Well, it was nice to see you again," he says to Brittany, polite as ever, and it only pisses you off more.

"You too," Brittany beams back in the bright and happy way that she can only do, but the second he disappears down the hall, you feel an icy stare burning into the side of your head and clench your jaw intermittently, trying to push the narrowed glare away.

Still, she shifts over the few seats until she's next to you again, and you know that everyone's in the cafeteria because you walked into them when you came out, but you still feel a little tense and this time, you don't think it's because she's setting a hand over your knee in a way that friends decidedly do _not. _You think it's because you're a little touchy that she was just chatting away and grinning with a guy she was going out on a date with months ago, and okay, maybe she turned him down and told him she wanted to be friends with him because she'd just fucked you in a toilet stall, but that's not the point.

You're just being irrationally jealous.

That doesn't mean you're not pissed off, though.

"He just came to say hi and I didn't want to be rude," Brittany whispers, and you know she's trying to reassure you but you still don't meet her eye, choosing to look away and sip on your coffee, shrugging in response.

After a few long moments, Brittany lets out a long exhale and pulls her hand back, the air around you two dampening considerably so as dead silence stretches between the both of you.

And _damn,_ if you didn't hate Carl before, you certainly do now.

/

You two don't speak to each other for a good half an hour, and in the long run, you know you being pissed is pointless because you've always sucked at being mad at her and that damn cookie is burning a hole in your pocket because you still haven't given it to her and it's almost like it's freaking _taunting _you. But you hold strong, knowing how stubborn you are and you know that whilst you still can be pissed, you're going to be.

(You're kind of pathetic and childish.)

"I'm going to pee," she announces quietly, and you see in your peripheral vision how Sam, Sugar and Quinn nod. You don't react, just continue playing _Angry Birds_ on your phone and you tense when blue eyes flicker to you and Brittany lets out a long sigh before disappearing down the hall, toying with the sleeve of her hoodie with you know is a habit that only happens when she's sad. You kind of really fucking hate yourself now.

"What's going on?"

You're startled by Sugar sliding into the seat next to you, the one over from Brittany's, and whip your head up. "What?"

"You and Britt," she elaborates and twirls a strand of her hair between her fingers. "Have you had an argument or something?"

You roll your eyes, clench your jaw and click the lock screen on your phone before dropping it to your lap. "Yeah," you admit and you really don't even care that Sugar might be jumping to (the right) conclusions about you two. You're going to act like you're just friends. "Do you remember that guy she bought to the our reunion night?"

Sugar's face twists. "Carl?" You nod. "Yeah, what about him?"

"He's kind of an asshole," you murmur and you know he isn't, probably, but you can't exactly blurt out that you're just being super jealous over something that isn't actually yours. "And Brittany told me she didn't want to talk to him again after she rejected him and I went to get coffee earlier," you hold up your empty cup for emphasis. "And came back to her chatting away with him and like, flirting or whatever," you finish your sentence in a slight grunt, turning your face away in disgust. Even the memory makes you shudder.

"Maybe she changed her mind about him," Sugar chirps and this time, you do tense. "She has been acting a little weird lately."

That catches your attention and you glance back at her, eyebrow raised. "Acting weird?"

"Yeah," she replies and shifts in her seat, bringing her foot up to the cushion and bending it at the knee, arm wrapping around it. "Like the other day I totally caught her grinning at a text," she tells you and something flutters in your stomach, the anger slowly disappearing. You don't _know _she was smiling at _your_ text, but you think she might have been. Especially because whenever you two are apart, you usually end up texting her to fill the void. "I asked her about it and she said she was texting her cat."

You bite your tongue to stop you from smiling and instead, roll your eyes at yourself. You know Brittany was smiling at one of your texts, you can feel it and so you need to stop trying to make something bad happen just because you're scared and you need to grow a pair and push past it. You like her, hell, you're _falling _for her, and you're pretty damn sure she feels the same way. Though you also need _not _to tell Sugar that and pretend like you were totally listening to what she had to say after she said about Brittany texting her cat.

"I'll go apologize," you blurt out and Sugar snaps her head around, eyebrows pushed together.

"You will?" She squeaks in disbelief and you just shrug.

"Well, yeah. I mean, she doesn't need her best friend being all crappy with her if she's acting weird," you try to you're so thankful that Sugar doesn't press the matter because she doesn't really give a crap, and instead shrugs, allowing you to get up from your chair and head out to where the toilets are. Maybe if you can catch her alone, you can kiss and make up. Literally. You could really do with kissing her.

Well, that _was _the plan until you round the corner, aiming straight for the ladies toilets and find Brittany leaning against the wall.

With _Carl _again.

_Fuck, _you hate this guy.

And you have restraint. You really do, but this is just fucking you off and you don't need to see this shit. Like, Brittany totally fucking knows that talking to him affects you because she wouldn't have come over and told you that it meant nothing before, so why the hell is she doing this again?

Okay, maybe she wasn't expecting you to walk around the corner and see this, but doesn't that make it worse?

Like, why would she talk to that guy unless—

_Shit._

You freeze as a thought goes through your head.

What if she's interested in him?

She was before, and he's kind of cute in a George Clooney kind of way and he's a doctor which means he's clever and rich, and maybe you're not being enough for her anymore. Maybe she's thinking about giving this guy another go and really, you shouldn't be that bothered because it's not like you two are together, and okay you might kind of be falling in love with her but she's never actually said anything like that back to you. You're sure by her actions she does, and by the way she smiles at you and how her eyes sparkle whenever they're on you, but that's not anything to go by.

She's not yours; you don't _own _her, so you can't be jealous. You have no right to be. No matter how much you don't like how she's leaning against the wall and how Carl's mirroring her body language and quite obviously looking down at her lips every now and then.

And anyway, you could totally be reading too much into this. She might _just_ be talking to Carl.

Brittany's friendly, she talks and smiles and flirts with everyone; you know that from years of friendship with her and so there might not be any need to be getting all jealous and possessive because like she said, she doesn't want to be rude and tell him to go away. Maybe he approached her again to chat; two people can totally do that, regardless of whether they have a history of going out on a date or whatever.

Plus, _you're _still the one that she chose on that reunion night. She told _him _to do one after having sex with_ you_ in the toilet stall; so if anything _he _should be the jealous one because Brittany totally chose _you_.

Yeah, that's right. She chose you, so you need to stop doing this.

With that thought, you turn and walk back to the waiting room, ignoring the quizzical stare Sugar sends you and pretend like you didn't see anything.

There's no need to be jealous.

So you're not going to be.

/

Brittany comes back and takes the seat beside you, but she doesn't say anything or meet your eye when you try to find hers.

You let out a small sigh and clench your jaw, desperately wanting to apologize and get this weird funk between you two go away, but you want to know what she was talking about with Carl that was clearly so hilarious and interesting that she had to stay there for another seven minutes after you came back and sat down.

So you shift in your seat, throwing your arm across the back and face her. "You were gone a long time," you state, not wanting to seem too obvious but wanting to get straight to the point.

Her eyes narrow, face contorting with confusion and she twists her head, but keeps her body faced straight ahead. "So? Am I not allowed to pee for a long time?"

"You are," you reply without a beat between you. "But I'm just saying," you shrug. "You were gone for a while."

This time she does face you, narrowing her eyes even further as they dart across your face. "I was talking to Carl," she finally admits, and it comes out softer than you were expecting so it catches you off guard. "I came out the toilet and he was there and he asked me what he'd done to piss you off."

Shit. You weren't expecting that either.

"He did?"

"Yeah," she confirms with a nod and hard, blue eyes that make you want to wrap your arms around her and bury your face into her neck, apologies spilling from your mouth. "Is there anything else you'd like to quiz me on?"

You don't really know why she's being off with you, though you suppose it probably has something to do with you being slightly passive aggressive but still, it's not like you're meaning to be and you can't help that you're feeling a little protective of her. Especially when there's a very attractive (if not ancient) doctor totally flirting with her at any chance he can get.

"No," you finally answer, gritting your teeth. "No more questions."

She breathes out short and hard. "Good," she gets out through a clipped tone and folds her arms over her chest, clearly more pissed off than before.

Great.

/

You know that really, there's no reason to be jealous, and that you don't really have a right to be jealous even if there was one.

But you still can't fight the way your stomach turns when a nurse starts _blatantly_ hitting on you in front of the entire group, or more specifically, in front of Brittany.

You don't really know what happens; one second you're standing by the vending machine, debating whether to get a chocolate bar or a bag of chips—seriously, you swear the hospital only holds unhealthy crap so years later you can come back here with a heart attack, and really? Can't they serve something that _isn't _processed?—when you feel someone sidle up next to you and then there's an attractive nurse, leaning on the side, grinning at you in pale pink scrubs.

You blink at her for a few seconds, trying to figure out who the hell she is when it comes back and you vaguely remember her being the nurse who picked up your phone a few hours back. Though it seems she seems to remember you if the smirk on her face is anything to go by.

"Um, hi..." you begin, not really getting why she's staring at you or why she's here. Doesn't she have someones bedpan to clean out or something?

"Hi," she chirps back, folding her arms across her chest and tilting her head against the vending machine. "Is your cell okay?"

You push your brows together, keeping your face directed to the machine whilst your eyes flicker between the snacks and the nurse. "Oh, yeah," you breathe out, nodding. "It's fine." You suddenly remember how rude you were and twist your neck, glancing at her fully. "Sorry about how rude I was, by the way. I didn't say thank you, so... yeah, thank you."

The nurse beams at you. "That's okay," she replies, lowering her tone and scooting a little closer. "I'm Nurse Elaine."

Your eyes flit down to her badge, confirming that is her name and when you compare her picture to her in real life, you realize she's much more attractive than the photo. "I'm Santana," you offer with a smile, not entirely sure why you're giving her your name.

"Santana," she repeats, almost like she's testing the name out on her tongue and after saying it again, she begins bobbing her head and bites down on her bottom lip, her eyes roaming over your face a little _too _slowly. "Suits you."

You hold back the remark about how pretty much everyone suits their name, and just nod, punching in the number of the packet of chips you want. You kind of want to go back to your seat. You feel like a piece of meat with her eyes trailing over you like this. Plus, you have a weird itch in the back of your mind and it feels strangely like a pair of blue eyes burning a hole into you, so you spare a quick glance over your shoulder to find Brittany staring at you, but as soon as you look at her, she clenches her jaw and diverts her gaze away, back to Sugar who you're assuming she's talking to.

"Is your friend in C47?"

Your eyes find the nurse again. "Excuse me?"

"The person you're here for, silly," she elaborates with a playful grin.

Your eyes just dart around with uncertainty. "Uh, yeah," you finally get out after a long second, bending down to grab your packet of chips before you lean against the vending machine like she is, crossing one ankle over the other. "I guess so, I mean, she's the Asian one who looks like she's with her brother when actually that's her boyfriend and the father of her child."

Elaine lets out a bark of laughter, too loud for it to be genuine and it's only when she reaches forward, boldly stroking your forearm and the back of your hand, and you glance down to her fingers lingering on your skin, that you realize that she's hitting on you.

"You're so funny," she whispers and shifts forward, still holding on to you and stepping into your personal space. "And you've got a gorgeous smile," she adds, coyly, fluttering her lashes at you quite obviously.

You clear your throat, feeling more than awkward because not only is this chick hitting on you, but you just _know _Brittany's watching you and it's in front of the entire group which means they'll no doubt talk about this and bug you about why you're not going to go out with this chick; therefore causing complications between you and Brittany.

"Thanks," you utter and spare another glance back at Brittany, finding her pointedly _not _staring at you; but you know she's desperately trying not to by the way her jaw's clenching and by how her fingers are clutching to the can of Coke in her hand just that little bit tighter. "But I should um... I should probably get back to my friends now," you suggest to the nurse, trying to convey that you don't want to be around her.

But she must read it the wrong way because she steps even closer, right into your personal bubble and leans into your ear, her breath warm against your lobe. "If you want to grab a coffee from the cafeteria, just ask for Elaine at the nurses reception," she whispers and pulls back, giving you a wink before pushing off the vending machine and walking away, swaying her hips with purpose.

You stand still for a long moment, wondering what the hell just happened and why she was hitting on you when you were quite clearly giving her a 'back off' vibe, before you head back to the chairs and sit next to Brittany, turning to say something to her but noticing the way she turns in her chair, putting her back to you as she continues talking to Sugar.

You just slump further into your chair and let out a huff.

You swear this hospital is cursed or something because you don't know what the hell's going on. You were fine and now that you're here, there's all this bullshit jealousy and blank stares and no conversation; and you don't want that.

You just want her to talk to you.

/

An hour after the 'Elaine incident,' as you like to call it, Brittany still hasn't talked to you.

You tried to make light conversation, and honestly you're a little pissed off that she's pissed at you because you were the one that was supposed to be pissed at her. And yeah, sure, maybe that's a little confusing but it totally makes sense in your head.

But anyway, you don't know why she isn't talking to you because it's not like you got the nurses number or anything, and you were quite obviously giving her the cold shoulder when she tried to flirt with you. It's not like you're going to go and get a coffee with her either; she may be hot but she's no Brittany.

You don't think Brittany knows that though, and she won't even give you the time to explain.

And you nearly get to asking her, but then she whispers something to Quinn beside you and you try to catch her eye, but she doesn't even acknowledge you and walks off.

So you slump down, picking up your basically cold coffee and take a long sip, wincing as the liquid settles in your stomach, eying Quinn. "Where's she's going?" You ask, trying not to seem too interested.

Quinn looks at you. "The cafeteria," she replies and you settle down a bit. At least Brittany isn't going off to find Grandpa. "She said she's hungry and wants something that isn't processed."

You feel the corners of your lips turning up. You totally thought that earlier. "Yeah, I know how she feels."

"_Mmhmm,_" Quinn hums in acknowledgment and begins picking at her nails, not wholly focused on the conversation. "What did the nurse want earlier?"

You tense a little, spinning your now empty coffee cup in hand. "She hit on me," you tell your friend and Quinn snaps her head around, definitely more invested now. "Then asked me if I wanted to go for a coffee in the cafeteria."

"Did you say yes?"

You narrow your eyes at her. You were kind of expecting more of a reaction. "No," you shake your head, the word coming out as a squeak as you can't believe Quinn asked you that. Though you suppose she's not exactly clued in about your feelings for Brittany, and the old you probably would've said yes to the nurse and would now be screwing her brain out in a closet somewhere. "She left before I could say anything."

"Oh," Quinn jerks her head back, lifting a shoulder at the information and going back to picking at her nails. Clearly your life isn't that interesting. "Well, you're not the only one who seems to be getting hit on in the hospital."

You have no real reason to, but you tense and your heart picks up. You have a feeling you're not going to like the answer to the question you're going to ask. "What? Who's getting hit on?"

"Brittany," Quinn replies, nonchalantly and something cold drops in your stomach. "Carl asked her out again."

You swallow thickly, fighting back the sudden anger flaring across your skin and try to force yourself not to react visibly because there's an urge burning through your legs to find Brittany, ask her why the hell she didn't tell you that he asked her out. She said that they were just _talking _and now she's pissed at you when clearly you have a valid fucking reason to be pissed at _her. _You feel like you're about to explode, and you really want to show Carl how great this hospital's care is by kicking the crap out of him and watching the nurses and doctors try to repair his face after you've fucked him up.

What an _asshole. _Hitting on your girl.

(There's a rational voice in the back of your mind telling you that actually, she's _not _your girl. But that's totally _not _the point.)

"Did she say yes?" You grit out, really _not _wanting to know the answer but at the same time desperately needing to. You know where you stand depending on the answer to this.

Quinn doesn't even seem to notice the inner turmoil going on inside you and shrugs, her eyes still focused on her nails. "She didn't answer him, apparently," she replies with a shrug and then Kurt calls her name and she looks up, finding him waving her over from the vending machine. "Be right back," she murmurs, patting you on the knee and you nod curtly as she gets up.

The moment she's gone, you crumple the empty coffee cup in your hand and grind your teeth together.

Because all you can think is that sure, she didn't say _yes._

But she didn't say _no, _either.

/

You've been at the hospital for six hours now, and according to Mike who dragged himself out of Tina's room about ten minutes ago, Tina's only 5cm dilated and so she's got a while to go. He did say you could leave, but you know Tina and you know she wouldn't want anyone to leave; and surprisingly enough, even _Rachel _said that she wanted to stay here. Though you think that's a lot to do with the fact that there's a really hot male nurse going by the name of Brody, apparently, who keeps flirting with her, but she's being tolerable so you're not going to complain.

Anyway, you notice that Brittany still hasn't come back from the cafeteria and it's been exactly twenty-one minutes since she left, so you decide to go and find her because you need to know where she is—you feel all kinds of uncomfortable now when she's not in your eye-line because of fucking _Carl_—and you need to know why she didn't say no to him when he asked her out.

You're still a little angry, and the only reason you didn't go sooner was because you know you say stupid things when you're pissed, it's your defense mechanism, so you've let yourself calm down but you don't think you're going to get any calmer unless you get a damn answer from her. So you flash Quinn a half-smile and nod at Kurt, telling him you're going to go and find Brittany and set off.

And you find her, staring through the weird glass thing that shows all the newborn babies. It's a little creepy you think, that just anyone can look at these babies, but you're not exactly focused on that because she's standing there with her arms crossed, her hair now up in a high ponytail which means she's pissed, and her face is completely void of any expression. Great. She's still pissed at you.

You stand in the doorway about ten meters away from her, just watching for a few minutes as you process you're mind and all you can think of now is how she didn't say no to him, and clearly she's having some thinking time for herself which only leads you to the conclusion that she's going to check with you to see if it's okay to go out with Carl.

Which, obviously, spouts another burst of anger within you.

So you walk up to her slowly, your hands shoved in your jeans pockets and shoulders up by your ears, and it's not the smoothest of things to say, but you're angry and so it just comes out.

"So I heard you're gonna go out with the douchebag doctor again."

Brittany's eyes slide to you in slits, her lips dropping open as you stare straight ahead into the room full of babies. "What?" She asks through a hiss.

You tense a little and swallow hard. You're not used to Brittany being like this with you.

Still though, your defenses are up and you just find your mouth running before your mind can even really think about it. "I don't care if you are," you blurt, squaring your jaw and looking ahead, your brow hardening. "I just wanna know if I should start looking for someone else."

You know it was harsh. You know it's not true. You know you're being a bitch—_hell, _you're _always _a bitch—but that's just who you are. And you're scared; you're really fucking scared because you've fallen in love with someone who might not love you back, and if she's going to hurt you, then you want to get in there first and hurt her because then it'll lessen the blow. It's a really pathetic move, and you can tell by the way she flinches, chokes out a short breath, looks away and tightens her arms around her that it _has _hurt her.

And you immediately want to take it back. You immediately want to tell her you didn't mean it because you're so fed up of fucking up things, you're so fed up of pretending to not feel things you do, but she's already twisting her body to face you and staring down at your with hard blue eyes and flared nostrils; and you know it's too late.

"Actually, Santana," she starts, scrunching her brow and letting her eyes flick down to her feet before coming back up again, even bluer and harder than before. "I was going to say no." Your anger falters, expression drops and body deflates. "But if we're _just _about sex and I'm _that _easy to replace," she dips her head a little, breathing hard and heavy through her nostrils. "Then maybe you should go back the nurse as she was clearly up for it, and I'll go find Carl and tell him I _will _go out with him," she says lowly, her voice cold.

Before you can even _think _to apologize, she's already storming away and disappearing behind two swing doors, and you're just left there shocked, slapping a palm against your forehead.

You're such a fucking idiot.

/

Ever since you were a little kid, you've somehow fucked important things in your life.

You lost your first friend in middle school because your friend began hanging out with the 'popular' crowd and you weren't, so you were hurt and pissed off and thought that spreading a rumor that your friend fancied one of the popular girls boyfriends was a good idea. Your friend stopped speaking to you, the popular crowd disowned your friend and basically, no-one got anything out of that situation. Bottom line, you fucked up.

You also fucked up back in high school when you had your first girlfriend, who was also your best friend. You got scared and decided to fuck half the Cheerleading squad just because you were unsure about your feelings, and it turned out you had pretty strong feelings for her and ended up breaking your heart and her own when she found out. You haven't spoken to that girl in five years, and you don't have an residing feelings for her or anything, but if you could go back in time and not fuck up, you would. You hate yourself for hurting someone _that much _on purpose.

Once again, you fucked up, and you've fucked up so many more times that you'd need at least two more people to help you count, but you're just _so _fed up of being the fuck up. You hate it, in fact, and so as you watch Brittany walk away from you, you decide that you don't want to fuck up with her. She just means too goddamn much to you, and so without another seconds though, you begin sprinting after her.

You catch her by the elbow and she spins around, her eyes full of tears, and in that instant, you hate yourself a whole lot more, even though you thought it wasn't possible.

"Britt," you pant but she yanks her arm out your grasp.

"What, Santana?" She grits out, swallowing and sucking in her lips. You know she's about to cry and _fuck, _you hate that you're causing that.

You want to just tell her, you want to just blurt out that you're falling in love with her and put all this shit behind you, but the words are stuck in your throat and you just can't get them out. It feels like you're under too much pressure, like there's an audience; as if the guy sitting on the gurney is listening in on your conversation, and so you spare a quick glance around, finding a store closet on the other side and without a second thought, you grab her arm, ignoring the way she tries to pull away from you and tug both of you inside, shutting the door behind you.

"Are you really gonna go out with him?" Your voice breaks as you ask, your face betraying the strength you're trying to show.

Brittany just stares, her eyes hard, but still glossy and you hate that when she answers you, her voice is so small, so hurt. "Maybe I am. How is it any of your business?" She inquiries, a challenge in her voice, along with a hell of a lot of annoyance and a tad curiosity. "You don't care who I date or not."

Your jaw clenches, nostrils flare and you turn around, one hand going to your hip and the other coming up to your forehead as you pace the small space in closet. "You know I do," you grit out, spinning back around. "You know I care," you add through a whisper, suddenly feeling like you're revealing a lot more than what you're saying.

Brittany just snorts lightly, shaking her head, her eyes drifting off. "You have a really funny way of showing it, Santana."

You know she's _really _pissed because she used your full name, and the only times she does that is when you're tapping that spot you know makes her come hard or when she's really angry and well, you two clearly aren't having sex right now and so it's obviously the latter. But _God, _you'd totally prefer that it was the second option than this situation right now. You don't want to argue with her. You just want you two to be okay and to leave all the crap behind you.

"That's not fair," you whine, because she knows you have a hard time showing how you feel. You've always been like it.

"And you think _fucking _me whenever _you_ please is fair to _me?_" She spits, the words coming out like rapid fire and you jerk your head back, eyes growing wide and breath hitching in your throat because out of all the responses you'd come up with in your head, that was decidedly _not _one of them.

You narrow your eyes, your stare turning into a glare and you really can't believe she said that. "_You _said you wanted to be friends with benefits," you retort, taking a step toward her as you jab a finger in her direction. "You agreed that's what we were," you pant heavily to pause your sentence and drop your hand. "So _don't_ make me look like a bad person by saying that I'm just using you like a fucking _sex _toy, Brittany. Don't you fucking _dare._"

Brittany's face stretches out completely before shifting into an infuriated expression. She shakes her head and scoffs before lowering her eyes to yours again. "Actually, if you remember correctly, I pointed out that friends that sleep together are usually friends with benefits," she grinds out the words, her vision darting between both of your eyes. "_You _suggested that we become that."

"_I _suggested that?" You repeat, choking out the words. She nods once, hard, and now it's your turn to scoff as you turn around, shaking your head and blowing out your cheeks as you take in a deep breath. She can't actually be saying this. You laugh mirthlessly to yourself, looking down at the ground and pinch the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger before you spin around, meeting her eye once more. "Britt, I _asked_ if we were that."

"No, _I_ asked if you _wanted _to _be_ that," she corrects, her blue eyes glossing over again. Now you're not sure if she's pissed at your or upset. Either way, you still fucking hate yourself. "And you said yes."

/

_"So that's what we are?" You asked, lifting your eyebrow. "We're friends with benefits?"_

_Brittany wet her lips and sat back in her chair, hands dropping from the table to land on her lap. "Is that what you wanna be?"_

_You felt your insides turn at her question, your breath caught in your throat. You didn't want to be the one to get the feelings because you were the one that rejected her first. You didn't want to suddenly feel something for her and let her know _if _you ever did, if she was only going to turn the situation on its head and do the same thing as you did to her; and reject you._

"_I mean... yeah, I guess," you replied with a shrug. "If that's cool with you then that's cool with me."_

_There was a lack of reaction for precisely three seconds before Brittany's face was splitting into a smile and she was nodding in agreement. "Great," she said and you wished you could read her mind at that moment. "Okay, well, now that's sorted, can we get back to work? I wanna go home."_

/

Your automatic reaction is to argue with her, to tell her that you didn't mean that, even though you may have said it, but she's looking at you like she wouldn't believe anyway and your mouth clamps shut.

You're such an _idiot. _

The only reason you ever said that was because you were unsure of how you felt and you didn't want to be rejected. Which is ridiculous now because as you look back, you realize that you were falling for her the entire time. If you'd just suggested that you two became more back then you wouldn't be in this situation now. And you know that's stupid because you were never going to say anything back then; not when you were scared and unsure of how Brittany felt. Because as big and confident you may act, inside, you're just a scared little girl, afraid that someone might finally break down your walls and love you.

But you can't admit that.

That's not the way to tell someone you're in love with them and so you hold your tongue, swallowing the words you so desperately want to say.

And as you watch Brittany's expression change as she notices you realizing you're wrong, you also realize that she hasn't given you an answer of whether she's going to go out with Carl; and the lack of answer is just _killing _you.

Which is why you spit out, "So you're gonna date Dr. Grandpa are you?" instead of apologizing and declaring your love, glaring at her as she leans against the shelves filled with sterilized and packeted medical equipment.

Her eyes flash with disappointment and you swallow thickly, but she doesn't walk out on you like you expect, which really, later, you'll realize would've been a better idea because you're being a total bitch at the moment, and instead she breathes in deeply and cocks her head to the side. "I don't see why I shouldn't," she says, her eyes darting between of yours and the muscle in her jaw defining itself. "You're probably going to go off with Nurse Gagging-For-It," she pushes off the door, and comes toward you, stopping directly in front of you and staring down at you, suddenly seeming a foot taller than you rather than a couple of inches. "And it's not like you have feelings for me, is it?"

Your entire body tenses as she asks, and you gaze into her eyes, realizing that she's challenging you. Both of you know it, and you swallow, a massive throat forming in your throat when you realize that this would be an opportune moment to voice everything. To just tell her and get it out in the open; but you feel like you're stuck. You feel like everything you've ever thought about saying to her, all those speeches you came up with to tell her how you feel, have just vanished from your mind, and so you just stare at her, your expression pained and your mouth open, throat quickly drying and you don't say a single thing.

And apparently you wait too long, you stay quiet for too long, because Brittany sucks in her lips, her eyes drop from yours and she takes a large step back, shaking her head down at herself like she's disappointed in you and thinks foolish of herself for challenging you. And you want to tell her she's not foolish, you want to tell her that you're falling in love with her, or have fallen in love with her, but you've never been good at talking about feelings and you're terrified. You feel like frozen, routed in this place, so all you do is watch her as she laughs dryly to herself and ducks her chin to her chest, trying to hide the tears you know are threatening to fall.

"Exactly," she breathes out finally, breaking the dead silence between you and after closing her eyes and wiping the corners of her eyes, Brittany lifts her head and meets your eye again, the light that you fell in love with all those months ago, gone from behind her own eyes. "So if you excuse me, I'm going to go and tell Carl I'll go out with him and you can go and find that nurse," she tells you flat-out, sharply spinning on her foot and pushing open the door, disappearing out of it.

It's only when you hear the lock click into place that you realize she's just gone, left, just like that and that things are never going to be the same.

So you suck in a deep, shaky breath, ignoring the way heat's pricking at your eyelids and the way your heart feels like it's about to fall out of you because you've just fucked up with the one person you _really _care about, and wipe at your eyes before you push open the door and back out into the hallway.

Except when you step out, you freeze; your lungs stop functioning, your eyes go wide and your mouth drops open as you listen to the rush of blood pounding inside your ears because you're not alone.

Because over on the other side of the hallway, casually leaning against the wall with her foot planted on it, her head cocked and eyebrow lifted, hazel eyes staring right at you, is Quinn.

And just like that, you know you've been caught.

/

**As a majority of the fandom will by dying tomorrow after the whole Quinntana bullshit scenario going on on the show, I've decided to do a next day update as no-one will want to read tomorrow and well, I think we all need a little something to cheer us up before our dreams are crushed.**

**Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed and I would say I'm sorry for the cliffhanger, but I'm not! **

**Leave a review if you can, love you all! (:**


	14. Chapter 13

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Thirteen]  
**Rating: **NC-17**  
****Length: **9.8k

**Notes: **You guys are SO incredible, seriously. You're giving me inspiration to write with your words and your enthusiasm! But anyway, I'd like to just do a quick shout out to _heyho _and tell everyone that if you aren't reading her fic _Paperweight, _you need to be. Seriously, it's awesome and I don't usually recommend fics but go right ahead 'cause so far it's epic!

/

Quinn pushes off the wall and slowly walks toward you, her arms folding over her chest and eyes squinting further as she gets closer and closer.

You know you should say something, because you don't even know if she saw Brittany come out the closet before you. For all you know, she could have just come along and was casually leaning against the wall in case someone she knew walked past. Which, sure, is unlikely and means you might have to come up with an excuse about why you were hiding in a storage closet, but that's sure as hell going to be easier than explaining why you were in there with Brittany.

Although as she gets closer, where you expect to find curiosity and suspicion lingering behind the hazel eyes boring into yours, you see something else.

Something softer.

Something more like... an understanding.

And a willingness to listen.

It cracks something inside of you, something you thought you could hold back and when she gets close enough, you choke out a sob and a single tear rolls down your cheek, and then she's right there, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you into a hug you didn't know you needed. You don't cry; instead you force yourself to hold back the remaining tears threatening to spill and clutch on to her, pressing your face hard into her shoulder and digging your fingers into the fabric of her pajamas beneath her coat as you let the walls come down and let your emotions free.

Pain. Anger. Jealousy. Hurt.

You let all of it go, let it racket through your body, slice through you until you're whimpering against Quinn's shoulder and wishing that it would just go away. You just let yourself feel, and Quinn holds strong because you can't do it for yourself, and rubs comforting hands up and down your back as you two stand in the middle of a hospital ward's hallway, people, doctors, patients, just passing by until you finally manage to find some routing for yourself. Until you finally manage to pull away from her and stand on quivering legs, Quinn's hands grasping your biceps as she looks, like _really _looks, into your eyes.

But you know she won't be able to see how you're feeling. There's only ever been one person who could look into your eyes and see how you're feeling.

And that person just walked out on you, and is now probably off with some other guy.

_God, _you're such an_ idiot._

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Quinn finally questions, her voice soft and low.

You gulp, because it's not until know that you know for sure that she knows what subject you would talk about. She knows, you can tell by the way she's trying to sympathize with you subtly and by the way her thumbs are massing your biceps that she knows about you and Brittany. You're pretty sure you knew when she was walking toward you, when she was showing you understanding instead of anger,and even though you know you should probably be freaking out, you just need someone to help you. You just need someone to talk to because you don't know where your head's at and you don't know what to do about Brittany anymore.

So you nod, blinking back another sudden rush of heat at your eyes and whisper, "Yeah," as you glance away, somehow hoping Brittany hasn't just walked out on you, but rather she's standing there waiting for you. But she isn't there, and you bite down on your quivering bottom lip as your eyes return to Quinn's. You feel lost. "I don't know what to do."

She seems to understand, because instead of questioning you here, and doing the normal Quinn thing where she doesn't drop it until she's sure she wants to listen by poking the subject out of you, she just winds her arm around yours, offers you a small, soft smile and walks you down the hallway toward the hospital cafeteria.

You've never been as grateful as you are now for having Quinn in your life.

/

"I've known for a while, you know."

You've been sitting at one of the cafeteria tables, a coffee clasped within your hands for the past ten minutes now, and this is the first thing she's said. You snap your head up, knowing exactly what she's talking about but it still feels like you need some confirmation of that. It still feels like it's a secret, something you've held back for so long, and you can't let it go unless you know, one hundred percent, that she knows because otherwise you're in shit.

"What?"

Quinn lets out a short, disbelieving laugh through her nose, the corners of her lips curving up as she drops her eyes to her own cup of coffee. "I saw you two at the coffee shop a few months back," she elaborates, lifting her gaze. You freeze a little, but know exactly what she's talking about again. "I came in to remind you and Brittany to make the pastries as neither of you were answering your phones, and I saw you."

Heat floods to your face, the beginning of embarrassment setting in but your other feelings are too strong for you to really focus on that. "Why didn't you say anything?" You ask through a breath, your brow creasing. Quinn has acted a little strange, and you can't really say you're that surprised because she hasn't exactly been great at hiding her suspicions, but it's still a little shocking to find out that she's known something you thought was a secret for so long.

"Neither of you told me," she answers with a shrug, and you can tell by the way she doesn't meet your eye, instead choosing to glance over your shoulder that she's a little hurt you didn't tell her. You wonder how long she's felt like this. "So I figured you didn't want _anyone_ to know."

It's true though, and you don't need to feel bad about not telling her on top of everything else. "Yeah. We, erm... we didn't want anyone to know."

Quinn bobs her head, accepting your words. "Thought as much," she takes a sip of her coffee and tilts her head to the side. "So what's going on then? What are you two doing? Why are you arguing?"

The first thing that comes to your mind is to ask how she knows you two are arguing, but no doubt she saw Brittany coming out the closet in a state, she definitely saw you coming out looking all kinds of distraught and then there's Sugar who probably said something. Girl can't keep her mouth shut. You still love her though.

"I don't know," you reply, lifting one hand to rub at your forehead in frustration. You've been asking yourself the same question for months now; what are you and Brittany doing? Are you really just best friends with benefits? Do they stare into each others eyes when they come and feel their souls merging together into one? Do they kiss each other when they want and make sweet and hot love in the dead of night? Do they look at each other with such love it'd make Noah and Allie look like a freaking _fling_?

You don't know, and now there's the fear coming back to you that you'll never know, either.

"Are you two just sleeping together?"

You know you shouldn't feel pissed at Quinn – she doesn't know about yours and Brittany's past and she doesn't know the frustration you feel when you ask yourself that, let alone having someone else ask that – but you still feel a jolt of anger and curl your fist against your head, shaking it.

"I don't know," you reply again, because it seems you don't know anything anymore. You let out a heavy exhale and drop your hand to the table, clenching your jaw as you look to Quinn again. "We were at the beginning but... at first we freaked out because the first time we slept together, we were both drunk and Brittany had feelings for me. Then the second time... I think it was out of jealousy of seeing her and Carl and we were completely fine after, and—and then third..." You shake your head again, squeezing your eyes shut as you remember going back to Brittany's after the alley incident. "And then third it was just... playful and it seemed normal."

You lift a shoulder in a small shrug, your tone trying to convey understanding to Quinn but she just tilts her head and looks at you. You can't tell if she understands, or if she's just taking in all this news about things she didn't really know were going on behind her back.

"And it just got easier and less scary as it carried on," you explain, swallowing thickly. "It got easier and I don't really know what happened, or where it changed," you look down to the table, but not at the table. It's just a spot to focus your gaze as your mind wanders off. "But we went from having hot, sweaty sex to cuddling on the couch and kissing just because. She even came to Miami with me and met my family, and we spent a weekend together." Quinn gasps lowly, her eyebrows lifting in surprise and hand pressing to her chest. "And we said we were friends with benefits and that neither of us had feelings for each other but..." You pause, wet your lips and shake your head again at yourself. "I don't know anymore. The last conversation we had about feelings or what we are was like... months ago."

Quinn's face falters, but she leans forward, her face soft and understanding, but at the same time expressionless. "And how do you feel about her?"

You take a moment, staring down at your coffee as you take in a deep breath. "I'm in love with her," you say with clarity.

It's the first time you've ever said it out loud, and you find it strange how right it feels. How there's such a lack of reaction in your body.

"But it doesn't matter," you add, quickly shaking your head, clenching your jaw and looking away. "It doesn't matter if she's going to go out with Carl, if we're going to fight, and if things aren't going to work out because I don't even know if she loves me back." The words make your heart ache, your chest tighten and you swallow thickly. "I know she had feelings for me once but... this time I think I'm too late," you whisper, because you're not really saying it to Quinn, you're saying it to yourself.

"When did she feel something for you?"

It's not quite what you were expecting, and you tilt your head up, your vision moving to Quinn; but you see that she's trying to figure this out, that she's trying to process what's going on and it kind of bugs you that she's using her lawyer skills on you because she's piecing together the situation before she replies, but you suppose it's a good way to handle it. You haven't got anywhere yourself by just staring at the information, almost like a cop would do, so you're going to let her do her thing.

"She told me that she liked me for like, a year before we first started... whatever this is," you wave your hand about the table, gesturing to nothing in particular. "But then she said she didn't anymore." You shrug and take a long sip of your coffee, ignoring the urge to wince at the bitter taste. This place needs to get some good coffee. "At the time I didn't feel anything for her, and I was a little shocked that my best friend had just told me she liked me and I didn't know, so I was confused and surprised."

Quinn nods along to your words like she understands and you lift your shoulders, your mouth hanging open in a perfect 'o' for a second as you find the next words.

"I didn't want to tell her that I liked her when I didn't and get her hopes up, so I just let it go and she proposed we stay friends and forget about it. I said that was a good ideas and we managed to forget and stay friends..." You duck your head, blowing out your cheeks as you exhale. "Until that reunion night." You gulp and avert your gaze. "And then we ended up hooking up and that's when things started changing, and now I'm here and I'm in love with her," you wave your hand out toward the exit to the cafeteria, your eyes following it as if she's standing right there, but she's not and you turn back, dropping your forehead against the table top and closing your eyes. "And I've fucked it up."

It comes out muffled against the fake wood, and you roll your forehead back and forth as you think about how much you could do with a few shots of vodka or a few glasses of scotch or something to make you feel a little better. You don't even think you could drink your way out of this situation, though.

"Okay, Lopez," Quinn speaks suddenly, reaching across the table to flick you on the top of the head. You jerk your head back, your face twisting into a scowl as your rub the sore spot, and you're about to ask why the hell she did that when she speaks first. "I'm going to lay this out for you..." she says and you prepare yourself, sitting up and matching her position of leaning her crossed arms on the table, her shoulders in and head forward. "You're a fucking idiot."

For the second time, you jerk back, but this time there's no physical sore spot to rub, just a shot of offense surging through your system.

"There's no way in _hell _if she liked you before, that when you two had sex, the feelings just disappeared," she lifts both eyebrows in a _you know I'm right _way and you try to argue but she cuts you off again. "If anything, they would've increased her feelings, and so you need to stop being so fucking dumb, you need to stop throwing a pity party for yourself, grow the fuck up and take some damn responsibility for once in your life."

Your eyes widen; you've never had Quinn talk to you like this before. Sure, you two have some weird friendship that involves straight talking and no holding back on _anything_, but this is taking it to a whole other level.

"Okay, you might have fucked up, but when do you _not _fuck up? That's just you, and we all—kind of—love you for it.," she shrugs and presses her lips together smugly. "We know how to deal with you because at the best of times, you're a complicated bitch, but Brittany _knows_ that. Probably more than any of us—_hel_l, she started liking you _in spite _of that. So please, climb the fuck out the angst pit you're dwelling in and do something about this." She leans back in her chair and folds her arms over her chest again, lifting a shoulder. "If you don't, you're only going to feel worse and there's only so much I can take before I kick your dumb ass."

To say you're a little thrown off by this turn of events would definitely be an understatement, and whereas you'd usually reach across the table and slap the crap out of her for being so damn rude to you, you don't immediately have that urge and instead feel the urge to defend yourself. You know you're difficult, and it's one thing to think it yourself but for someone else to say it is actually pretty hurtful.

So you attempt to defend yourself. "She's going out with Carl," you point out.

Quinn shrugs, her eyebrows lifting to her hairline and face saying the words before her mouth does. "So?"

"That's my point right there!" You half-screech, slamming your palm down as frustration burns through you. A doctor sitting at the table across from you shoots you a sharp look and you clear your throat, deciding to lower your voice as you lean across the table a little further. "If she didn't want to go out with him, she wouldn't. That kind of tells me she doesn't like me."

There's a moment of silence, a moment where you honestly think you've won, but then she cocks her head to the side and you realize this is just the beginning.

"Did she sleep with anyone else during the time you two were..." She waves her hand around above the table, ducking her chin to her chest as if to leave it up to interpretation, but when you stare blankly she elaborates. "During the time you two had this thing," she quickly changes the end of her sentence and you're glad. You feel like you'd get a little defensive if she just said you and Brittany were 'just fucking.'

You roll your eyes because you know the answer to this. You and Brittany had an entire conversation about it, and it's really not helping you fight your point. "I don't think so."

"And did _you _sleep with anyone else during that time?"

You don't mean to, but the second the question's in the air, you scoff, jerks your head back as if you're _offended _by the question. "Of course not," you get out, your face twisting with disbelief.

It's a second later, a second in which Quinn's face turns from inquisitive to knowing, a second where her face goes from being blank to holding a smirk, that you realize what you've just said and _how _you've said it. And you want to smack yourself in the face, you want to take it back but it's already out there and so you just let it go. It's not like you haven't told her that you're already falling, or fall_en _in love with Brittany.

"Then Santana," Quinn continues, reaching forward and grabbing your forearm to urge your eyes back to hers. "I suggest you stop her from going out with this guy."

So simple. It's so fucking simple for Quinn to just suggest that you should stop Brittany from going out with Carl, but there's so many things you've said, so many things you _haven't _said and shit, life just isn't that easy.

"This isn't a movie, Quinn," you hiss, but your tone's a little dampened, a little low, a little sad and you _hate _that. You just feel so _raw._ "I can't just run in and shout 'stop' or the date or something. I can't tell her to choose dump the old man and choose me because life doesn't work like that," you shake your head and lift your shoulders, dropping them heavily. "Things change, and I've already fucked up." You slump down in your chair, your bottom lip quivering and nostrils flaring as a shot of sadness spirals through you. "She might not forgive me."

"Oh, for fuck sake," Quinn huffs and shakes your arm where she's still holding it. "Stop being so fucking dramatic. I didn't mean for you to do that," she says and cocks a brow in your direction. "Just fucking tell her."

Your eyebrows scrunch together, eyes narrowing into slits. "Tell her what?" You spit, shaking your head. "That I like sleeping with her? That's not exactly the way to charm a girl," you deadpan.

Quinn doesn't even hesitate in reaching across and slapping you around the side of the head. "I mean tell her how you feel, you idiot," she growls when she settles down in her seat.

And it's when you don't even flinch, don;t even bother slapping her back like you usually would that you realize that this Brittany thing is really getting to you. Because you don't want to ruin it. You don't want to tell Brittany because you're scared if you say the words out loud, she'll do what you did to her and not be able to reciprocate the feelings. She might reject you, and you don't want to ruin what you have because it's better than not having anything at all. And you don't just mean the sex; you mean spending time with her and holding her and all of that sappy crap that comes with it. You don't want to lose your best friend because things will get weird if you tell her you're in love with her and she doesn't feel the same back.

_Fuck. _You don't know how after everything you're still unsure of her feelings for you.

"I can't," you croak out, fighting the tears suddenly present in your eyes. "What if I fuck it up again?"

"What if you don't?" Quinn fires back, her face a lot softer than a minute ago as she pulls her hand back. She stands from the chair, smoothing down the front of her pajamas and readjusts her hair, keeping the silence between you for a few seconds. "Look, Santana, you can keep asking yourself and doing a classic 'Santana' and hide your feelings and get frustrated at yourself, or you can stop being a dick and just go for it." She folds her hands in front of her and rounds the table, setting a hand on your shoulder and leaning down to you. "It's that simple."

And then she walks away, without another word and you're left thinking about everything she's just said.

/

You sit in the cafeteria for a good fifteen minutes, just thinking about what the hell's going on in your head before you force yourself to get up and head back to the waiting room.

But when you get there, Rachel's bouncing up and down and the group's crowding around her and you get closer enough to catch the end of what she's saying.

"...finally reached 10cm and now she's gone into the delivery room!"

Everyone beings grinning widely and you take a few seconds to catch up with it when you realize they're talking about how Tina's literally having her baby right now and then you're grinning too. All of you begin clapping, buzzing with excitement and somehow the problems that were flooding your mind get pushed to the back and you're focused on this. Quinn doesn't even give you a strange look, just comes over to you and begins asking you whether you think Mike's going to ask her to be the Godmother (even though she totally already knows he's going to) and Rachel comes up and begins chatting about how she wants the baby to take her name as its middle name, regardless of gender.

You just roll your eyes but continue smiling, waiting with the others for Mike to come out.

But you can't help but notice that Brittany doesn't look your way once.

/

An hour later, Mike comes into the waiting room and grins sleepily at all of you, his eyes beaming and smile bright. Everyone freezes, hands snapping to the arms of their chairs and simultaneously lean forward, waiting for the news. You can tell he's exhausted by the way he drags his feet as he walks, but you're too focused on just how damn happy he looks and you know it went smoothly and that he's now a dad.

"It's a boy," he chokes out, and this is the first time you've ever seen him cry.

He just looks so freaking excited and all at once, the group stands up and run to him, wrapping your arms around each other and tugging him into a massive hug. You're all laughing, some of you (namely Rachel and Kurt, the drama queens of the group) are crying with Mike, and you all congratulate him as you pull away. He takes a turn in talking to each of you, describing how beautiful his son is and you stand toward the back, watching all your friends coo and 'aww' over his description, but mostly you're focused on Brittany.

She's grasping Kurt's hands, jumping up and down with him with a wide grin and bright eyes, and you get this sudden rush of affection that sucker punches you in the gut and everything that Quinn said comes rushing back to you.

Because telling her how you feel is _that _simple.

You just need to say it, to announce that you've fallen madly in love with her and that's it. There's no 'what ifs' because life isn't always easy; things aren't going to be great from the start and you have to fight for what you want. You have to fight to keep things, you have to put effort into relationships if you want them to work but that's just how life is. Sometimes you and Brittany might argue, and might yell at each other, but what couples don't do that?

Nothing's ever perfect one hundred percent of the time, and it might be hard for you to tell her how you feel because you suck about talking about your feelings, but you've got to think about the outcome. If you tell her, then you're putting yourself out there sure, and risking the chance of heart-break, but you might get the response you're looking for and she might tell you that she loves you back. She might actually fucking love you back, and you can't think of anything better than that and even now your heart's fluttering and you're stomach flipping at the thought that she might feel the same way.

You jut have to tell her.

You want to call her your girlfriend and you want to fall asleep with her in your arms and you want to make her breakfast and all the other cliché crap that couples do.

You want all of it, and you want it with her.

And just like that, you've made up your mind and you're spinning around, zoning in on Quinn and grabbing her by the elbow, dragging her into the corner of the room, away from the crowd. Your mouth goes to open, to tell her exactly what you're thinking but when you meet her eyes, you find she's already smirking at you and you kind of want to slap yourself because she knew it was only a matter of time before you realized how stupid you were being for not telling Brittany. She knew, and she didn't force you, and you smile gratefully at her and chuckle at yourself because _God, _it seems everyone knows how you feel and what you're going to do before you do nowadays.

"When you gonna do it?" Is the first thing she says, whispering the question with an underlying tone of excitement tingeing her words.

But shit, you didn't think about that. You were too caught up in the excitement that you've decided you were going to do it that you didn't consider _when _you were. And you glance around, thinking about how you could totally do it now, but you don't want to steal Mike and Tina's thunder. They've just had a baby and this time is theirs to celebrate. You don't want to make it all about you because they deserve to have this moment. Hell, they're going to have to deal with spontaneous excretion and many sleepless nights so you can let them be happy for a while.

"I can't do it now," you murmur to your friend, eyes flitting back to her.

Quinn shifts, rolls her eyes and folds her arms over her chest, cocking her head to the side in annoyance. "Well when _are _you gonna do it?"

You chew on your lip, debating internally for a while before you end up shrugging. "I don't know."

Hazel eyes roam over your face, and you suddenly feel your body deflate because your excitements just shot down in an instant. You've _just _had the revelation that you want to tell her and you know you could now, but you're not a dick and you don't want to ruin Tina and Mike's thunder about baby Chang. You don't want to steal the limelight but that just means you're going to have to wait and God only knows the last time you did that, you thought it'd do no harm and somehow you ended up screwing things up almost irreparably with Brittany.

"What about tomorrow?"

You blink, a little confused. "What's happening tomorrow?"

Quinn spares a glance to the right to where the group stands, more specifically where Kurt and Rachel stand before returning her gaze and leaning in. "Rachel was saying something about going out for celebratory drinks tomorrow for the birth of the baby," she whispers, but you cut her off before she can continue.

"Tina and Mike won't be able to come," you point out because _duh. _That's the whole reason you're here in the freaking hospital in the first place. "They'll have a day old baby to deal with, Fabray and I hardly think Tina will be in the celebratory mood after pushing a watermelon out her vagina."

Quinn's eyes narrow with disbelief and she shakes her head. "What? No," she moves her hand about in the air between you, waving off your obvious statement. "Rachel was talking about celebrating whoever gets chosen as Godparents," she shrugs. "Obviously she knows Tina and Mike can't come; she doesn't have her head _that _far up her ass."

You laugh a little but then you process her words and your face drops. "You want to celebrate whoever is chosen as the Godparents?" She bobs her head in confirmation. "So you want to celebrate yourself?" You deadpan, because everyone knows that Tina and Mike are going to choose Quinn as the Godmother. She pretty much shotgunned that position when the pregnancy was first announced, or like, when she became best friends with Mike. Whatever.

"Well yeah, there's that, too," she admits with a smile. "But that's not the point," she waves you off again and you glance around, wondering why the hell you thought it was a good idea to plan with Quinn of all people. Rachel probably would've been better. Okay, maybe not. "We can use that as a cover and you can get Brittany alone and tell her."

It feels like you're in a James Bond movie or something, coming up with some elaborate plan and you want to roll your eyes, but you can't deny the buzz thrumming through your body because regardless of the situation, you're going to freaking tell Brittany that you're in love with her tomorrow. You're actually going to do it, and now all the excitement you felt when you glanced at Brittany and realized you just _had _to tell her comes rushing back, hitting you full force.

"Yeah," you breathe out, nodding to yourself as your vision shifts back to Quinn. "Tomorrow, I'll do it at the drinks."

Quinn's face lights up, happiness and joy spreading across her features and she even goes as far to clap like a fucking seal. But then she sees the arched brow and the look on your face and drops her expression, clearing her throat and casually leaning on the wall like she isn't at all interested that you're going to tell Brittany you're in love with her tomorrow. "Um, I mean, whatever," Quinn flips her hair a little. "You're doing the right thing. It'll be so romantic because then you can hold her hand in front of us and you know Britt," she shrugs and pinches her lips up at the side in a half-smile. "That'll make her day."

You grin, but manage to scoff out, "_God, _you sound like Berry."

"Shut up," Quinn bites back, playfully. A comparison to Rachel is pretty much the world's worst insult to you and Quinn. "So you're going to do it?"

Your body answers before your voice does and you nod. "Yep. I'm gonna do it."

"Okay," she continues and flits her vision to the right again. "I'll go talk to Rachel."

A hand snaps out and squeezes your bicep comfortingly, and you breathe in a deep, shaky, nervous breath at the prospect of what you're going to do tomorrow before Quinn skips off toward Kurt and Rachel. And you have total faith in her that she can make Rachel think it was her idea to go out for celebratory drinks so you don't have to worry about having to explain to Rachel your entire emotional and very physical journey with Brittany.

Still though, it's daunting. It's terrifying. It's scary.

Because you're going to tell Brittany tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

/

Half an hour after the announcement, Mike comes out and tells you that Tina all wants you inside the room to meet the new addition to the gang, who's still yet to be named. You all nod and head on in, ignoring the looks the nurses shoot you because you've all been warned that you're not technically allowed to go into the room in such a large group, but it's not like any of you really follow rules and instead ignore the nurses and do what you want.

Baby Chang weighs in at six pounds and eight ounces. He measures nineteen inches tall and he doesn't have any hair which creeps you out a little.

But you can totally tell he has Mike's nose and Tina's eyes already, and okay, maybe he's a little cute but you don't really like babies in general so Baby Chang's alright for a baby, you guess.

Everyone takes their turn in holding him, and Quinn, Kurt and Rachel all stare down at Baby Chang like he's the best thing they've ever seen and you roll your eyes a little because it's a baby, but whatever. But then you're taking a hold of him, awkwardly shifting him around because you don't know how to hold babies, and when you boop his nose and his tiny little hand curls around your pointer finger, you kind of sort of fall in love with him.

And it's at that same moment, when you gasp and smile down giddily at this tiny little baby that you feel a pair of unmistakable eyes on you and lift your vision to find Brittany gazing at you, her head tilted to the side, lips sucked into her mouth and eyes soft. Honestly, after everything that's happened since you've been at the hospital, it almost makes you choke up, but then she's glancing away and you look to Quinn who just mouths _tomorrow _to you and you calm down. Tomorrow everything will be okay. Although you're totally nervous now.

Too soon for your liking, Baby Chang's being taken from your arms and handed over to Brittany, and when you see her with him, something blossoms in your chest and even though its way too fucking early to even be thinking about this, a flurry of images of Brittany holding _your_ baby shoots through your mind and warmth floods through you. You're smiling before you know it, and when Brittany bends her neck down and presses her lips carefully to Baby Chang's forehead, you see how fucking gentle and caring she is and somehow, you fall in love with her a little bit more.

Exactly like it happened with you, the moment she pulls back, her eyes are lifting and she's staring at you, your expression softening and your eyes meeting. Your breath hitches in your throat and you try to look away, but you find yourself routed, locked into position and so you just give in and stare, trying to convey your apologies like this.

But then there's a nurse coming into the room, clapping her hands and telling you all that it's time for Baby and Mother Chang's first feed and Brittany's dropping her eyes from yours and walking back to the side of the bed, lowering Baby Chang into Tina's arms. Mike thanks you all for coming, Tina does too distantly and a little sleepily as she's staring at her son—_damn, _that's weird to think—and has been up for like, a shit load of hours, and then Mike offers that you can all go home if you want too and you all shrug because yeah, you came here to meet Baby Chang and that's done so you're good.

So you walk as if you're heading out the hospital with Quinn by your side and Brittany, Kurt, Sam, Jake, Marley and Sugar in front when you remember you've left your coat in the waiting room so you run back, picking it up and shrugging it on before you meet Quinn again, but when you step outside the hospital, you realize that most of the group's already disappeared, or more importantly, Brittany's disappeared.

Your shoulders slump, disappointed that you won't be going home with her or even saying goodbye, but then Rachel's popping up beside you, her arm looping through yours and you snap your head around, a little confused about why she's touching you but not really giving a damn because as much as you pretend you dislike her, she's not _that _bad.

"So, Santana," she chirps and you're not sure how she's so bright and energetic considering you overheard her telling you that she didn't even get to sleep before she got the call which means she's been up for way over twenty-four hours. "Are you coming for drinks today?"

Excitement buzzes over your skin at the reminder of today, but then you begin panicking because you've said tomorrow when actually it's not. Damn it. Your internal clock is totally fucked up.

"Definitely," you blurt out but then Rachel side eyes you and you clear your throat, trying to remember to play it cool. "Erm, I mean—yeah, whatever. I'll be there," you add a little more casually.

Rachel beams a grin at you, Kurt too, and then Quinn finally comes outside, tugging the lapels of her jacket up you turn to her as she asks you if you want a lift home.

"Nah," you sigh and rock on to the balls of your feet, your eyes drifting off to the now blue sky. "I think I'll walk."

Truth is, you need a little breather, you need to get some air because it's suddenly hitting you that you're going to be doing something major tonight.

Something that will undoubtedly change your life.

With that thought in mind, you bury your hands in your pockets, offer a final smile at Quinn and head off down the street.

/

It's just casual drinks, but you spend like, an hour debating whether to go for a dress or whether to go for black jeans and your knee-high boots, maybe throw in a leather jacket as you know it makes your boobs look great, and in the end you do go for that, but not before emptying your wardrobe on to your bed and throwing items of clothing here, there and everywhere. It's going to be a bitch to clear up but you don't really care.

You need to look good so you're not fretting about your appearance whilst simultaneously crapping yourself about you know, the whole declaration of love thing.

Shit. You're so fucking nervous it's unreal.

Your hands are actually shaking, clammy too, and when you check in the mirror, you can tell you're at least three shades paler than you usually are. You're going to end up sweating your make-up off and make your hair frizz with the stress. Great.

And the worst part is, a thing you only thought about when you were getting ready, was that you don't even know what the outcome of Carl asking Brittany out was. You don't know if she actually said yes or if she was just challenging you to see if you'd go off to that Elaine chick, and so you're just hoping—like fingers, toes and everything else crossed type hoping—that she said no because you think that will work against you when you tell her.

You can only hope that she says it back, as well.

You can only hope.

/

Jake and Marley had to head back to Ohio for college, which means it's just you, Kurt, Sam, Rachel, Sugar and Brittany going out.

It's okay, because it takes some of the pressure of you having fewer people around, and Jake and Marley have always been a little quiet anyway so it's not really like you'll notice, but still, your point is there.

Anyway, when you head into the bar and slide into the booth, Quinn, Kurt and Rachel flanking you, you offer Sam, Brittany and Sugar nervous smiles and clasp your hands together beneath the table to try to stop your legs from jigging up and down. Brittany's sitting directly opposite you, and she doesn't even greet you verbally, just offers you a brief smile and you die a little inside. You know it's not the best start, especially considering what you're going to do, and it even freaks you out so much that you consider not going through with it.

But then someone gets the drinks in and you all get a little more comfortable, and twenty minutes later, someone's tapping the side of your thigh and you glance up to find Quinn eying you. You frown, not completely sure why she's staring but then she mouths, _"Brittany," _to you and you shift your gaze to find blue eyes locked on to you. You blush immediately, because it's the first time she's looking at you and not glancing away in a while and you've kind of been missing her so much that you're getting all hot under the collar at her freaking _staring, _but then you figure that if you're going to get the ball rolling, if you're going to tell her everything you feel, you need to start with a smile.

So you tug the corners of your lips up, offering half a smile that you hope she reciprocates, and it's a long, tense few seconds where she lifts her glass to her mouth, sucking on the straw and only offering a blank expression before she tilts her chin down and begins glancing at you through her long lashes. Your heart picks up its beat immediately, your palms getting a little less sweaty and hope rising, and you keep the eye contact, you hold it, wanting her to forgive you for being an ass, or least smile back at you because you'll just die if she doesn't, and finally, after you count thirty-seven seconds, she rolls her eyes and smiles bashfully into the sip she takes.

It manages to break the tension that's formed in your chest, the panic, the worry, the concern, and you giggle as you take a sip of your own drink because you know she's not that pissed at you anymore. She might still be a little pissed, and you still need to apologize, but you're taking baby steps and you've just successfully made the first one so you're getting somewhere.

Maybe you have the same effect on her, which makes her suck at being mad at you like you suck being mad at her.

Quinn nudges you beneath the table, a little too hard and you whip your head around to hiss at her but then she's widening her eyes, tilting her head to the side as Brittany chats away to Sugar and you know she's telling you to do it now; but you're still a little hesitant. You want to make sure she's actually _talking _to you, and you want to make sure there's a little conversation before you blurt out that you've fallen head over heels in love with her, so you click your tongue at Quinn and scoot out the booth, catching Brittany's eye as you shift around to the other side and sit beside her.

Silence stretches between you for a few beats of a heart, and you chew on your bottom lip as you twist your body toward her, your lips moving but no words coming out because you're not really sure how to approach this; but then you figure you need to just go for it and break the ice with a greeting. That's how you usually start a conversation and even though you're losing all verbal skills at the moment, you know you need to push past it. You're going to be saying a lot harder things soon enough so hello is the least of your worries.

"Hi," you croak, realizing how dry your throat is.

Brittany giggles a little, and she rolls her eyes, knowing that she sucks at being mad at you even though she has all reason to, but you just keep a cute smile on your face, hoping her resolve to be pissed will break completely. "Hi, San," she replies, her voice low.

Then you're grinning at her, beaming in fact, and you shift so your bodies are so close the electricity sizzles between you, your hand slowly creeping across the leather of the booth toward hers that she slowly moves, too.

And just like that, you know this is the moment.

Your breath catches in your throat, you feel the words bubbling up, curdling within you and when the tips of her fingers stroke over yours, and both of you gasp audibly, your eyes snap up, meeting those trusting blue eyes boring straight back into yours and you're presented with the overwhelming urge to kiss her, to tell her you love her. You're so overwhelmed with these feelings that you end up just gazing for a moment, taking in her features and memorizing them, and even though you're dying to kiss her, to press your lips against hers, you need to say this.

Shit. You're actually going to do this.

You suck in a deep breath, wetting your lips and you shift a little more, eyes dropping as you swallow loudly before you let your eyes meet hers, locking on to them. "Britt," you breathe out, your words shaky and uncertain, your hand quivering beneath hers. "I need to tell you something."

"Okay," she draws out, nodding in understanding and you can tell she's now a little curious and unsure of what you're going to say, but you don't want her to be unsure. You don't want her to be nervous because you're not going to tell her you slept with someone else, that you're dating Elaine; you're about to tell her that you want to make her yours. That you want to be her girlfriend, to kiss her goodnight and make her breakfast in the morning. Even if you have to learn how to cook, you want to do it.

But just as you get ready to say those three little words, her gaze drops from yours and she's looking down at her purse, trying to find the vibrations that you feel thrumming across the leather. Your face scrunches up in confusion, the moment pausing for a second and you almost blurt it out anyway, despite her phone ringing but then she's taking her hand out from beneath yours, reaching into her purse and retrieving her cell, frowning down at it.

"Can I get this?" She asks. "It's really important."

_No._

"Erm," you make a noise to say you're thinking about it because on one hand, you don't want her to leave because you've got the courage to say how you feel, but on the other, she wouldn't ask to pick up this call unless it really was important, so you decide to just go with being the nice girl and nod. "Sure, Britt. Pick up."

You've waited this long, you reason, so you can totally wait a few minutes or so. It won't change anything.

Brittany offers you a grateful smile and squeezes your thigh before she slides out the booth, and when she disappears outside to where it's quiet, there's music booming overhead, you share a glance to Quinn who looks about two seconds away from fist bumping you because you're actually going to fucking tell Brittany, after so long of pretending like you're not in love with her; but you just send her a playful scowl, trying not to build this moment up for more than it is because things could still go wrong. She could still say she doesn't love you back, even though you're sure she does because there's a chance of rejection, and so you don't want to start grinning when you haven't come out with the words and heard them said back.

You'll save the celebration for when it's definite.

/

Five minutes later and you see a flash of blonde in the corner of your eye, turning with a grin on your face to see Brittany coming back up to the table.

But the second your eyes lock on to her profile, the grin disappears because you notice how pale she's gone. Your heart picks up it's beat, your hand tightening around your glass and you tilt your head to the side because she's still clutching her phone, staring down at it like she's not sure what it is, and you frown.

"Brittany!" Rachel drunkenly yells from behind you. "You're back! Now we can do shots!"

Brittany's always up for shots, in fact you remember that night when you two first hooked up and you did a body shot off her and _fuck, _that was hot, and so when you glance back at Brittany, expecting to find her happy, something cold drops in your stomach because she's still blank, and pale, and staring at her phone. Her face is twisted, her eyes narrowed and lips parted and there's the tell-tale crease in her brow that you know means something major just happened. The last time you saw that, you almost fucked things up between you and her so you know whatever she was just told on the phone is serious.

And it seems you're not the only one to notice the sudden tension in the atmosphere, and the expression on Brittany's face because Kurt scoots around the booth, sitting on the very edge and reaches his hand out, gingerly moving it toward Brittany until his fingertips touch her wrist and she jerks a little, her eyes moving about but not really focusing anywhere.

"Britt," he whispers, and shares a look with you because you're her best friend and you should know what to do, but for some reason you're stuck in your chair, frozen in your place.

There's a tugging in your gut, almost making you feel sick, that's saying something bad's about to happen.

"Britt, honey," Kurt starts again, this time wrapping his fingers around her wrist and urging her forward until she's standing at the head of the table, everyone's eyes now on her. "Are you okay?"

Brittany snaps herself out of her stupor, clearing her throat and when her eyes move around this time, they meet yours and linger for a beat too long. It's just a split second longer than when she glances at Kurt, then Sugar, then Quinn, Sam and Rachel, but it's a beat that you don't like because for that tiny bit longer, you managed to see the confliction present behind her blue eyes. You saw it and you don't know what it is but you think she held your gaze for a beat too long because she was trying to tell you something.

_Fuck. _

"I... I just got a call from my—my professor," she stutters, her vision going back to her phone, fingers turning white as they grip at it. "And, um... a few months ago, there was an offer to be put up for a paid internship," she picks up her sentence, a little clearer vocally but physically, you can tell she's still lost and zoned out. "A paid internship at a publishing company, and at first I wasn't—I wasn't going to go up for it," she shifts her weight on to her other leg to pause her sentence and you get this intense urge to reach forward and just shake the rest of her sentence out of her; but then she's continuing. "But then my mom convinced me to do it... because there were so many candidates that I—I probably wouldn't get chosen."

Everyone shifts around you, hanging on the edge of their seats and you see the beginnings of smiles and excitement because so far, the news isn't bad — it's good because you think that she might have got this internship even though she hasn't said it — but then you see the way she gulps and begins looking all over the table, at all the faces staring back but makes a point not to meet yours and there's that tugging again in your stomach, pulling harder and harder until you want to choke a little.

But you don't, and instead choose to listen. You can't be jumping to conclusions.

"And that call was to say that I got it," she adds on and your entire body floods with relief because _shit, _you thought it was serious. Everyone breaks out into a grin, and you hear Kurt 'woop'ing behind you and you see Sugar pump her fist into the air and you almost celebrate yourself, standing up and kissing her right there to tell her you love her instead of words, but then you get another good look at her face and you're back to stone cold. Back to staring blankly, the smile decreasing on your lips because she doesn't look half as excited as everyone else, and when she looks to you, your heart leaps into your throat and your pulse roars in your ears because you know there's something more.

Something that's causing the paleness, the worry, the apology shining through her blue eyes.

Something you already know you're going to hate.

"But that's not all of it," she calls out, breaking down the ruckus of everyone celebrating, and they immediately calm down, silence overcoming the table until you're sure you can hear everyone's hearts pounding against their ribcage as they're just as nervous to hear the news that you are.

But then Brittany's taking in a deep breath, and you see her lower lip quiver and you crave to reach out and comfort her, to wrap your arms around her and tell her everything will be okay because you'd go to the end of the Earth to make sure she was okay. But she's lifting her chin, her eyes filling with tears and then she's saying the sentence that brings your world crumbling down around you, drains the blood from your face and changes your life, your plans, because you know with the announcement she makes, that things will never been the same again.

"It's in London," she whispers, her voice breaking as her eyes find yours and her body shifts, nervously. "I'm... I'm moving to London."

/

**I literally rewrote this cliffhanger like seven times, and I'm still not happy with it but I'm so tired I'm about to pass out and so if you don't like it, deal with it by yourself. Also, I haven't read through this because I'm knackered so any mistakes/errors are my own, but just skip over them and I'll fix them tomorrow after work.**

**Anyway, thank you so much, you are awesome ****_as always_****, and feel free to leave a review if you think this chapter was worthy. Love you guys!**


	15. Chapter 14

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Fourteen]  
**Rating: **NC-17**  
****Length: **9.5k

**Notes: **Okay, so I read over my A/N from my last update and a few reviews, and I realized how much of a dick I sounded when I said 'deal with it' so I'm just gonna put an apology out there. I didn't mean it as it said. But anyway, on to a happier note, thank you for all your reviews and your feedback, it's incredible and I apologize for the angst but if you know my writing, you know that's just how I roll. So yeah, I hope you enjoy, but also, if you're listening to music whilst reading this, please put on the song 'Stay' by Rihanna. It's what I was listening to it whilst reading and I'm not gonna lie, it made it pretty powerful. Thanks again and enjoy!

/

"You're moving to London? What? When? How long for?"

It feels like someone's simultaneously punched you in the stomach, ripped your lungs and heart out and then choked you, and you try to take in Brittany's reaction as Kurt questions her, just for confirmation, but you can't seem to focus on anything. Your vision's blurred, your mind dizzy and you feel so out of it, almost like you're not even here and you're not sure whether you want to be sick or whether you're going to pass out.

And you need some grounding. You need something to hold you down and thankfully, Quinn must see it because her hand sneaks behind you and rests against the small of your back, adding a little pressure and it seems to clear some of the blurriness but not all of it.

"It's only for a year," Brittany whispers and you hear the way her voice trails off, her eyes locking on to your profile but you can't look at her. "Maybe a little longer, but I'll only find out when I'm there... but, um," she pauses and gulps and you know you're definitely about to pass out when she says, "I'm leaving on the second," because it's too soon.

Though it seems you're not the only one to realize it.

"Britt," Quinn gasps. "That's in four days."

Hearing it out loud only kills you a little more, and you feel your heart flutter nervously inside with every passing second of silence because you can feel Brittany's eyes on you and you know you should be reacting at some point but you can't. You don't know whether you need to feel hurt and upset that she's leaving, or rather leaving you behind; whether you should congratulate her as this opportunity is incredible and you know from her briefly talking about it that only the best students get picked; or whether you should be pissed that she didn't tell you she was applying for it because this is just so out of the blue.

Maybe if you'd known you'd feel a little better about it.

Maybe if you'd known, you would've known how to react.

Maybe if you'd known, you wouldn't feel like you've just been hit by a ten tonne truck.

"I know... but—guys, please say something," Brittany begs, and you know she said _guys _but it was directed toward you.

But you can't answer. You just squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head a little before you stand. "I need to go to the bathroom," you blurt out and don't even bother waiting for anyone to respond or for anyone to ask if they can join you before you're making a beeline for the bathroom, pushing open the door forcefully and stumbling inside.

You brace yourself by one of the sinks, taking in deep, steady breaths, trying to regulate your breathing because it feels like you're hyperventilating; and as a kid, your mom always taught you to breathe into a brown paper bag, but it's not exactly like you have one handy and so this will have to do.

Slowly but surely, you begin to calm down, your chest not moving as rapidly and your vision comes back... Along with your thoughts.

You really don't know what you're going to do now; the plan was to tell Brittany that you were in love with her and see where it went from there, hopefully ask her to be your girlfriend and then get on with life happier than ever. But now you're stuck. On one hand you want her to be happy. You want her to go to London and you want her to have that internship and follow her dreams, because you know for sure if it were the other way around, she'd support you. But on the other hand, you want to tell Brittany you're in love with her and make her stay. You don't want her to leave because these past months have been the best of your life, and all because of her.

And you know you were never a sure thing with Brittany, you know you started out as friends with benefits and transpired into something more, and you know that if you and Brittany are meant to be together, the time will come and you will be together, but why can't that be now? Why can't you be happy for once? Why can't you get what you want? Why do you have to make a really fucking hard decision?

Because if you tell her you love her, if you ask her to stay, you know she will. You know she'll miss out on this opportunity of a lifetime and you're not okay with being the person responsible for that.

But if you don't tell her you love her, if you don't ask her to stay, you'll regret it everyday of your life because you didn't make her yours and you might miss out on your own opportunity.

_Fuck._

Why couldn't she have just told you? Why did she have to wait four days before leaving to tell you that she'd even _considered _it because you would've been more prepared. You would've had time to think about it, would've had time to mull it over and prepare yourself for this but now you're blindsided and you know she isn't asking you whether she can go or not—it's not your choice—but you know it depends on whether you say something to her. Because there's no doubt if you told her, and if she felt the same for you that you do to her, then she _would _stay.

_God. _Why couldn't she have just told you before?

But no... You can't be angry at her for trying to protect your feelings. You know she didn't tell you because she knew it would hurt you, knowing that she might be leaving the country. She knew that you would hate that she's leaving, so she didn't tell you to protect your feelings.

And you know that.

But you also know that because of that, you can't be mad for her wanting to follow her dreams.

You want her to stay, but she needs to go.

That's it.

You glance up at your reflection in the mirror, finding black streaks of mascara dripping down your cheeks, tears falling too, and you gasp because you didn't even know you were crying. You never cry. You haven't cried in so long, and you choke out a sob, grasping your sternum with one hand and muffling the noise with the other as you stare at yourself. Because it's only when you're taking in your mirrored image that it really hits you what you're about to do.

You're going to tell Brittany to go. Without you.

You drop your head, the tears dropping on to the off-white porcelain of the sink, and your hands grab at the sides as you feel yourself caving in. You love her. You love her so much and you feel like you can't live without her, and you want her to stay... but you won't tell her that.

_God. _

How did it even come to this?

/

You don't know how long you've been in the bathroom when you finally stop crying.

You force yourself to stop crying, to stop letting your emotions out because this isn't what you do. You're Santana Lopez, and you're numb to other people's feelings, and most people think consequentially that you're numb to your own, but you're not either of those. You know how people feel just by looking into their eyes, but they can't seem to see past your hardened exterior. Well, everyone except one person.

The breath you take in is deep and shaky and you push your thoughts aside, instead choosing on focusing on with cleaning yourself up, grabbing some tissue and cleaning your cheeks, dabbing your eyes gently to make it seem like you have _some _mascara left on. Then you splash your cheeks and pull back to stare at yourself, finding paleness, hurt, red eyes and a lost little girl staring back at you.

And you know you don't want to do what you're going to, but you have to.

Because you want the best for Brittany.

So you inhale deeply again, feeling your heart crack inside your chest and smooth your palms down the front of your jeans before you turn and walk out the bathroom.

/

You feel like you're living your life in slow motion as you walk back to the table, your head held high, face blank and hands clasped in front of you.

All eyes are on you, you don't need to look at each person to know that, but you just keep your vision fixated on Brittany, who's now perched on the edge of the booth, seeming as if she's ready to get up if needed. Her eyes flit to you when she notices everyone else staring, and the second you meet blue, you see her face twitch and wince, her eyes gloss over and body shrinking like she's terrified for what you're about to say.

Quinn's sitting beside her, and you suspect her hand's on Brittany's lower back much like Quinn did with you, to give you comfort, but you steal yourself and keep moving, never letting your gaze stray from Brittany until you're standing directly in front of her. She rises to her feet, and you know everyone's looking at you, and how obvious it is that there's clearly more here than just best friends who are going to meet each other, but you don't care. You don't really give a crap about anything else anymore. Only Brittany.

You reach for her hands, and her eyes drop to yours slowly, nervously, watching the movement and letting your hands linger in the air for a long moment before she finally sets her hands in yours and allows you to pull her to her feet. You feel the jolt the second her palms slide against yours, the one that you know is going to turn bitter and transform into an ache you can't rid, but you want to revel in the time you have. You want to let yourself feel because you know the second she leaves, you'll be numb.

"San," she starts after a long moment of silence lingering between you, her voice breaking, her voice croaky, but she continues no more, just bites her quivering bottom lip as she switches her gaze between each of your eyes.

And you want to tell her. You want to just say it now, even though everyone's watching you, but you can't, so you just offer the best smile you can muster and drop her hands, squeezing your eyes shut as you slide your arms around her waist and pull her into a hug. She tenses, her body stilling, but then she molds against you like she always does, her arms winding around your neck and pulling you into her and you just breathe her in, your lips moving to her ear when you can; because this is the most ready you're ever going to be.

Your breath is warm and uneven against her ear, and you clench your jaw, trying to find it within you to make sure you don't suddenly say three words instead of the ones you intend on speaking, and finally when you can, you do.

"I'm happy for you," you whisper, unable to tell her that you wan her to go, and her arms tighten around you immediately, her face nuzzling against your neck and you hear her sob, but you can't take that.

So with all the strength you have left within your pathetic body, you push her away, hold her at arm's length and suck your lips in as you look over her, knowing that you've got to memorize her in front of you like this, because soon enough she's not going to be there. So you remember the way she looks at you, the way she feels beneath your grip, the way her hand twitches when she wants to grab you again, and how her eyes, despite being full of tears, are soft and adoring; in the way they only are when they look at you.

_Fuck, _you wish you hadn't noticed that.

Her lips part, moving around, but no words come out, and you take this as your cue to leave.

With a forced smile on your face, you give her a nod, knowing if you do anything else you won't let go of her and then you're back to living in slow motion as you drop her hands, hearing them whoosh through the air and land by her side.

And you leave.

/

Later on, you're lying in bed on your side, your pillow soaked with tears and your chest aching from all the wracked sobs your body's been making.

You gave up wiping away the tears when you couldn't stop yourself from crying, even with sheer force, and so you just chose to lie in bed and think about Brittany, think about what you're going to do when she leaves, and how you're so madly and deeply in love with her that you want the best for her, even though that's away from you.

And you don't know how long you've been lying there when you hear your phone go off.

It's gone off several times since you left the bar, all calls, but you haven't noticed and so when you reach for it on the side table, sniffling and squinting to read the words on-screen because you've long taken your contacts out, you see the name _Rachel Berry _before you and the beginnings of her text beneath it. And usually, you'd just push your phone away, you'd go back to lying down and begin sobbing and whimpering again, but the first few words include Brittany and so you're powerless to resist reading it.

So you swipe your thumb across your screen, wipe at your eyes a little more and take in an unsteady breath as your eyes flicker over the text.

_Brittany turned down Carl for the date. Just in case you wanted to know._

The first thing that comes to mind is whether she rejected him for you, but then you think about her going to London and your heart breaks all over again. She only rejected him for _that, _not for you, and suddenly you feel stupid and you cry harder until you're curled up completely, knees pulled to your chest and face half-buried into your already wet pillow as your phone topples off the side of the bed and crashes on to the floor. Because even if you told her, even if you revealed your love for her, she probably wouldn't stay. Not if she only rejected Carl because of London.

And that's when you're faced with the truth.

She doesn't love you back.

/

Somewhere along the line, between the crying, the aching, the hurt, the anger... exhaustion takes over.

And you fall into a deep sleep.

/

When you walk into work the next day, you act as if last night never happened. You act as if you didn't wake up this morning at the crack of dawn, with only an hour of sleep under your belt, and spent the next three hours trying to rid the redness in your eyes. You act as if you didn't feel your heart-break over and over last night, as if you didn't feel sorry for yourself and as if you didn't cry a river of tears and had to throw your bed sheets and pillow cases into the laundry basket this morning.

You just act like you're fine.

You push open the door to the coffee shop and walk in, ignoring the set of hazel eyes that snap to you, but you breathe out a sigh of relief as you head into the back room, suddenly remembering that Brittany doesn't have a shift with you today; you just have Quinn to deal with.

You grab your apron and tie it around your waist, adjusting your hair and tightening your pony before you head on out, picking up the few orders waiting for you beside the coffee and frappe machine and get on with making them. Your hands usually go on automatic, doing your job whilst your mind wanders but today, you make sure both your mind and your hands are working at the coffee, and you receive several smiles when you put extra cream, extra shots, just because.

Apparently you do your job better when you put your mind to it.

Though soon enough, the morning rush is over and there's only two customers in the store, already sipping at their beverages and you know you can't get away from questions anymore. There's no distractions, nothing to clean, or to tidy, and you suspect Quinn did it all before you got here to make sure you _had _to talk about it, but you're not exactly in the mindset to be pissed because you knew it was coming sooner or later. Still, you choose to pick up a cloth and clean over the cappuccino machine, even though you're not sure it's even been used yet.

"Santana." Her voice is soft, too gentle, and your eyes close at it. You don't want her to feel sorry for you. "Santana," she repeats and you don't turn around, but her cold fingers touch your forearm and you stop rubbing over the shiny metal of the coffee machine because it can't get much cleaner, your hand stilling in mid-air. "Say something."

This time you do acknowledge her words, and you let out a long sigh as you drop your hand, the rag releasing from your clutches and you twist your body to her, your head tilting to the side and your eyes feeling too sad, too heavy as they meet hers. And you see the gasp she forces herself not to make as she takes in your appearance, and you know you look like a mess, you know you look dead in the eye and you know you're too pale; but it's not like she doesn't know you feel like crap so whatever.

"What do you want me to say?" You breathe out, your voice low and throat dry.

Quinn pulls back her hand, choosing to rest them in the pouches of her apron and she offers you the smallest of shrugs. "Do you not have anything to say about Brittany?"

Her face is twisting with annoyance, and you try not to see it because you really don't need her getting pissed at you, but you can't. It's literally staring you straight in the eye and you feel heat curdle within your stomach at it as you get a little angry yourself because you don't know what she wants you to say. That you're okay that Brittany's going? (_No.) _That you're heartbroken that she's leaving? (_Yes.) _That you're not quite sure what you're going to do when she's gone? (_Yes.) _

She already knows those answers, she can tell by your eyes, by the way you're acting, so what the hell are you supposed to say?

"If she's happy to go... then she should," is the only thing you can think of. You turn back to the cappuccino machine and pick up the rag again, moving to clean it but her hand snaps out, stilling it before you can.

"So you're not going to tell her how you feel?"

You drop your head, chin to your chest, as you feel the regret of not telling her sink in. You hate yourself for not doing it, but it's for the best. "No, Quinn," you sigh, shaking your head and squeezing your eyes shut. "I'm not."

Your friend steps forward, and you can feel her sharp hazel eyes on you, judging you. "She rejected Carl for you," she tells you.

You laugh, but it's dry, mirthless, empty. "She rejected him because she's moving to London," you state, picking your head up and glancing at her. You don't want to talk about this. "Not for me."

It's just another punch to the heart, and there's a tiny part of you that wishes Quinn would turn around and tell you that no, Brittany didn't reject Carl because of London, but actually for you; but it seems you're just got a case of the wishful thinking because Quinn's face drops, and she opens her mouth to argue with you but nothing comes out. Because Brittany did reject Carl, but _not _for you. She rejected him for _London._

"You don't know that," Quinn tries, attempting to keep her tone strong but you know she's not even convinced herself.

"I do, Quinn," you counter and you see your friend's mouth drop open again, this time a noise coming from the back of her throat as she tries to fight you again, but you cut her off. "And you don't know it was for me, so it's irrelevant."

And it keeps her quiet for a long moment. She shuts her mouth, her lips sucked in and you breathe in deeply, feeling something heavy in the crevices of your lungs because it feels like you can't quite breathe properly, but you're still living and so you don't care. So you get back to cleaning the machine, distracting yourself with how you can see little splash marks on the metal and get to scrubbing them; but you knew it wasn't the end of the conversation, you could feel it in the air and so you don't find it surprising when Quinn speaks.

Though what you do find surprising, is _what _she says.

"But you love her."

Because it's as if life's that simple. As if love can conquer all. Like it could fix everything; get you and Brittany together and keep her from going to London but somehow making sure she doesn't miss out on an opportunity and making sure you don't feel shit for holding it back. You laugh at the thought, at your friends words because you wish it was _that _easy. You wish you could just say those little words out loud, that you could just tell Brittany you love her and that would be that. She'd love you back, there'd be no outstanding problems and everything would work out. Just like a love song; you'd say it and you're happy. Everything works.

But you know life isn't like that and you find yourself smiling bitterly as you twist your neck, meeting hazel eyes.

"I do," you admit, because if there's one thing you're completely sure of, it's that you're in love with Brittany. That's the only thing you're sure of anymore. "And it's exhausting having to pretend like I'm not in love with her, but if she's not here, then it doesn't matter," you lift a shoulder. "And telling her before she leaves is only going to make it harder, it'll only hurt more and if this trip's going to make her happy, if she wants to go," you stutter a little, taking in an uneven breath because your mouth said those words but your head said _if she wants to leave you behind_. "Then she should."

You throw in a little shrug at the end; an automatic reaction to see if you can convince Quinn—if you can convince yourself—that you don't really care, but you both know you do.

"She'd stay if you told her," Quinn points out, and it's another blow to the heart because you're still not sure of that. After everything, you're still not sure and you won't admit that you're scared she doesn't feel it back because it's so clear she does; but there's still that doubt in your mind that she can't love you. That she's too good for you.

Your eyes close, pain slicing through you at your thoughts and you let out a long exhale as you say, "But I don't want her to stay for me." Quinn's eyebrows furrow and you know she doesn't understand, but she wouldn't. There's only one person who understands you and that person's leaving to move to London in a few days. "I want her to be happy," you manage to get out, pushing a sob back down your throat. "I want her to get her dreams and she deserves it. She deserves a great opportunity."

Though it seems Quinn still doesn't get it because her eyes narrow, they harden and she lets out the shortest scoff out through her nose, her head moving from side to side. "So you're just going to let her go? You're not going to tell her."

_No. _You're never going to let her go, you can't, but you choose not to respond to that part of the question. It'll make you vulnerable if someone knows your weakness.

"She'll be back at some point, Q," you try, and lean against the counter, cocking your hip out and folding your arms over your chest to hold yourself together. "And if I feel the same way—" you know you will "—and if someone's dumb enough not to have snatched her up—" something tugs on your heart just that little bit more, causing that little bit more pain at the thought of seeing Brittany in someone elses arms "—then I'll see what happens. But I'm not going to tell her before. That's not fair. I don't want to make her choose if it turns out there is a choice."

You only say it to get Quinn off your back, because she's like a dog without her bone when it comes to shit like this. You just need to give her that bone, that tidbit of information for her to mull on for a while and she'll back off.

"You know there would be a choice," she fights, and you're surprised because by now she's nodding and walking off, having her information. But the thought that she's still going worries you because you fear you'll realize how much Brittany leaving will affect you. "But you also know if there were a choice, it wouldn't really be one."

You know she's trying to tell you that Brittany would always chose you over everything, even a massive opportunity like an internship with a publishing company in London, but you're not sure.

And that's why you just shrug at her and offer a sad smile, because you don't know what else to say apart from, "She's going... and that's it."

Despite her mouth opening, an argument present, Quinn holds back her words, holds back what she wants to say because you must be showing how pointless it is for her to do this. You've made up your mind; you're not going to tell Brittany. You're scared, you're hurt, you're a little pissed off, but most of all, you just want Brittany to be happy – and that means her going to London.

So Quinn doesn't argue anymore; just sighs, shakes her head in disappointment and turns away, heading back to the counter to serve a customer.

/

For the next few days before Brittany leaves, you keep your head down and do whatever you can do distract yourself.

You work any shifts you can pick up, begging will for more and pretending like you just need the money; you go on long runs and don't stop until you physically can't breathe anymore; you finish assignments that don't need to be handed in for weeks and you even go as far as cleaning your apartment from top to bottom. Basically, you keep yourself and your mind busy and purposely miss phone calls, texting back the people who call you—namely Quinn, Rachel and Kurt—and say that you were in the shower, or you couldn't pick up for some bullshit excuse and you know they don't buy it, but you can't find it in you to care.

It's only the night before Brittany's due to leave, and you're curled up on the sofa, _not_ watching whatever is on the television that Quinn rings you insistently—thirteen times, to be exact—that you finally decide to pick up. You groggily reach over, bringing your cell in front of you and stare at Quinn's name for a long time before you exhale heavily and rest the cell by your ear, letting it balance there as you drop your hand back to the space in front of you.

"_Oh great, you haven't been eaten by Alsatians."_

You frown, but you can't even be bothered to come up with a witty retort. "Apparently not."

"_You could've picked up your phone, you know."_

"I did."

"_On the fourteenth call," _Quinn deadpans down the line and you roll your eyes.

"Yeah, well normal people would take the hint after the third time."

"_Then I'm sorry to disappoint you," _she replies.

You let out a long, heavy exhale, closing your eyes and shaking your head a little, minding not to knock the phone off your face. "You always disappoint me, so just say what you have to and then I'll get back to watching TV."

Quinn clicks her tongue at you down the line, but you ignore her. You're so tempted to just hang up but you know she has something important to tell you by the silence she's now giving you. You've been friends with her long enough to know when she's trying to find the right way to say something difficult; and you have a funny feeling it has to do with Brittany. You're not sure you want to hear this.

"Just spit it out," you hiss impatiently. You can feel your stomach begin to flutter nervously.

There's a beat of silence before Quinn just blurts out, _"Brittany wants everyone to see her off from her apartment."_

You're sitting upright before you know it, your breath suddenly halting and hand snapping to keep the phone to your ear. "What?" You ask, a little breathless, not quite understanding what you just heard. Her _apartment? _Why would Brittany want everyone to see her off there? "Why not the airport?"

Quinn gulps audibly. _"She said..." _she pauses and you press your tongue to the back of your teeth._ "She said it'd be too hard to say goodbye."_

"She..." The words catch in your throat and you swallow thickly, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. The news shouldn't really make you feel like this because you know Brittany's still going, she's still leaving and nothing's changed but something about her not being able to say goodbye at the airport because it's 'too hard' gives you a little hope. Maybe she can't say goodbye at the airport because when faced with the pressure, with the final decision and the reality that she's leaving, she'd turn back and not be able to leave. She wouldn't be able to get on that plane.

And okay, you don't know it's because of you, you don't know that it'd be too hard for her to say goodbye to you, but somewhere deep down inside, you suspect it and that thing, hidden away, makes you feel like it _is_ because of you.

"What time are you picking me up?" You say, instead of going with your earlier sentence.

"_Nine o'clock."_

You nod, because you don't know what else to do, but you feel like there's a little flicker of hope burning within you that maybe if you see her off, if you say goodbye, she might discover that it's too hard to say goodbye even when she's not at the airport, and maybe she'll stay.

Just maybe.

"Okay, thanks. Bye, Q." You pull the phone away from your ear, but you hear Quinn call your name and quickly bring it back. "Yeah?"

"_I... I don't agree with your decision, by the way... but I understand it, and it shows that you're an amazing friend."_

The thing is, you don't want to be an amazing _friend _to Brittany. You want to be more. But she's leaving, and that's something you can't fight or change.

So you gulp, cling to that tiny flash of hope burning with you and whisper, "Thanks," down the line before hearing Quinn say goodbye and then you hang up.

You lie back down on the sofa, pushing your phone out in front of you and stare at it for as long as your eyes will allow because you don't know for definite what Quinn meant about Brittany thinking it's too hard to say goodbye, you have your suspicions but nothing solid, yet you still feel a little something within you. And you know it'll only bring disappointment, it'll only make it harder for you when you watch her leave... but you have to believe in something.

Because if you don't have hope, you don't have anything to keep yourself going.

/

You wake up in the morning and act like everything's normal.

You act like you're not about to say goodbye to your best friend and the love of your life and go through your daily routines just like you would any other day. You shower, you brush your hair and dry it, you dress and make coffee and toast and catch up on the daily news. You sit there, at your breakfast table, trying _not_ to think about what you're going to have to do today and instead pretend like everything's fine.

You have to if you're going to get through this.

Quinn turns up at nine on the dot, ringing the buzzer and you open the door, not even bothering to smile at her as she walks in and waits for you to grab your jacket. You shrug it on, checking yourself over once in the mirror and ignore the way it looks like someone put out the light behind your eyes, the way your skin is paling and how you look like someone who's just lost everything they ever wanted and follow Quinn wordlessly as she leaves, locking your door on the way out.

You're a little surprised when you find Quinn's car parked outside your building as she only lives a few blocks away, but you don't even ask and instead climb into the passenger seat, looking straight out the window as Quinn slides in and starts the engine. You just watch New York go by in a blur and then all too soon, you're pulling up outside a familiar building and Quinn's shutting off the engine but not moving to get out.

"Are you ready?"

You don't answer for a long moment, choosing to clench your jaw intermittently and debate whether to answer with the truth or not.

In the end, you go for telling a lie. "Yeah," you breathe.

Quinn sighs, and you hear the disappointment lingering within it. "She's already outside," she comments, quietly.

And that's all you need to make it too real to handle.

It's a rush to the head and you close your eyes, forcing away the dizziness that creeps up on you because you just can't accept that Brittany's leaving. That Brittany's moving to London, away from you, and that you're not going to see her face every single day. You've seen that smile, looked into those eyes and felt your heart stutter every damn day for the past year and you don't know how you're going to live without it now.

You don't want to.

And you don't want to have to find a way to live without her.

"Let's just get this over and done with," you croak in a voice that's foreign to your ears. You've never heard your voice have so much emotion.

You don't need to look at Quinn to know she nods and instead you climb out the car, step on to the sidewalk and close the door behind you before you bury your hands into your pockets. Quinn rounds the car, joining you and you both walk on over, your feet feeling heavier, your heart getting pounding harder and harder against your ribcage the closer you get to Brittany. Your pulse is so loud in your ears now you can't hear any of the standard New York City noises, and it feels weird but you can't really focus on that.

Not when you pick up your head to find the entire gang there, including the Chang's and their new addition, standing outside Brittany's apartment, huddled together in front of a sleek black car with Brittany standing beside it.

Not when you look at the car that's going to take her away from you.

Not when you look at the girl that's going to walk out your life and leave a massive void you know nothing else can fill.

All her bags are still on the sidewalk, and you suppose she just got here, but you wonder why you and Quinn are the last to arrive. So you look to Quinn and you can just tell by the sad smile she gives you in return that she thought this would be best, that this way you wouldn't have to drag out saying goodbye and you have to admit, you're kind of glad. She was right. This is too painful and too goddamn hard as it is.

And you think everyone knows that, including Rachel who rarely gets her head out her own ass, because everyone looks away, pointedly not meeting your eye but have the utmost sadness in their own eyes. You know they know how hard this, and you feel affection grip your chest as you think of how they know not to give you a sympathetic expression as that's the worst thing to do in this situation for you. You prefer ignorance, because being numb to other people's feelings and your own is easier.

"Okay," you hear and your heart tightens as you look up to find Brittany looking over the gang, finally breaking the silence as you and Quinn slide up to stand in front of her. "So... I wanted you all here because you guys mean so much to me," her eyes flicker to you momentarily, and you swear you watch her lips form _especially you, _but she's talking again before you can process whether you just imagined that or not. "And I wanted to say goodbye properly." You gulp as she says _goodbye. _You don't want to say goodbye. This can't actually be happening. "I wanted to tell you how much I love you guys and how you've been the most incredible people in my life. I can't imagine where I'd be without you," she continues, the tears glossing over her eyes as they move around each person standing before her. "And because of that... I couldn't handle any of you taking me to the airport because—because this is already hard enough," she chokes out and you fight back your own tears at her tone.

"But I just wanted you all to know," she starts again, pulling her brows together and wringing her hands nervously in front of her, her fingers rubbing her ring finger absently. You clench your teeth together, your heart beating loud and heavy against your chest as you fight the urge to say something. To speak up and tell her not to leave, but then her eyes dart to yours again and your face drops as she speaks once more, this time directed to you quite obviously. "I wanted you all to know that I—that I've loved _every_ moment of being with you," she emphasizes on _every, _her face scrunching up and you hate that you can tell she's about to cry. It makes you want to cry, too. "And that I wouldn't change it for the world."

You feel the air leave your chest and almost choke, but then there's a hand pressing against your back comfortingly, and you look to Quinn on your left but she has both her hands in front of her; so you glance to the right and find Rachel there, smiling ahead with her chin lifted. She's not looking at you, and you know it's for your own comfort and you get this overwhelming urge to hug her because you two haven't exactly been the closest, but somehow she understands you more than most. Sometimes you think you might be able to get on with her because she may have her head up her own ass ninety-nine percent of the time, but she's perceptive to other people's feelings, and the proof is that text from the other night.

When you flick your vision back to Brittany, you can see her starting to give her goodbye hugs and you take a deep breath. You know yours is coming, and you know that when Quinn urges herself between you and Rachel, leaving you for the last, that she's giving you and Brittany the last hug. She's giving you something that you deserve and you have to fight another urge to cry because you really fucking love your friends.

So you just stand there, your eyes focused on the sidewalk and how you're scuffing your off-white Chucks against it, deeply anticipating Brittany's last goodbye. You can feel your heart aching from what's to come, but it's inevitable and even though you'd do pretty much anything to keep Brittany here, you know she's going to be happy. You're not saying goodbye, really; you're just saying see you later because she _will_ be back. At some point in time she will, and you're just desperately clinging on to that fact so you don't break down.

It's the only thing you have left.

You're so caught up in your head that you don't realize that Brittany's coming to you next until she's standing before you and you force yourself to look up. Your eyes meet hers, and your heart nearly jumps out at the sight of her staring at you with such soft, loving eyes. You don't know how you're going to go without seeing that look every single day.

"Well, this is it," she says first, breaking the lingering silence between you and you manage a weak smile, sucking in your lips as you nod, heat prickling at your eyes.

"I guess so," you whisper, your voice breaking from the absence of speech.

She gazes at you, her eyes brimming with tears and out the corner of your eye, you watch the group urge off a little, Quinn, Rachel and Kurt herding them off like sheep until there's a large space between you and Brittany and them. Far enough that they can't hear what you two are saying, and you shoot Kurt a grateful look when he turns and catches your eyes. You feel like you need your alone time with Brittany, to say what you have to and not what you need to because that will crush you.

"It feels like I'm growing up," Brittany chokes out, her lips twitching into a smile as her vision drop to your neck, unable to meet your eyes.

But you step forward, tilting her chin up and look her straight in the eye. You're not going to be able to look into them for such a long time that you need to take as much as you can now. "You _are_ growing up," you confirm, your voice a lot more serious than hers but thick with emotion. She always tries to lighten serious subjects with her brilliant smile and heavenly laughter. _God, _you're going to miss that. "You're chasing your dreams."

The tears begin spilling from her eyes and you know you have one last chance to hug her, to take as much of her in as you can and so you wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her into a brace and she quickly sinks into it, her arms wrapping around your neck and her head burrowing into your hair. She breaks into sobs the second her face is hidden, and you clutch her tighter, willing yourself not to cry because you can't. You can't make this worse than it is and you need to enjoy this. Enjoy what you can have in these last few moments you have because it's all you've got left.

So you don't let go. Your fingers clutch at the fabric of her shirt, fisting it as you pull her tighter against you until you're sure you two could fuse together as one. You close your eyes, let your head swim with her scent and enjoy the warmth that spreads through you the longer she clings to you. You can feel her heart thumping against your chest and clench your jaw because you know she loves you back. You know she does, in this moment, you know, and it should hit you like a train on the track, it should suck the breath from you because you've questioned this for so long.

But it doesn't.

Because you think you've always known. You think you've always known because of the way she looks at you, the way she touches you and how she comforts you. You think she's loved you for as long as you can remember, because she was always the one there for you, she was always the one that made you smile and she's always known what to do when no-one else did. She's always been _the one, _the one you never really chose, but the one you've always known you never wanted to lose.

She's always been the one you never knew you needed.

Though here in this moment, you do know. You realize that you've needed her all along, that she's your accidental happily ever after, that you've been out searching for something that's been under your nose the entire time. And now it's so clear. _So so _clear that she's everything you've ever needed, ever wanted, ever dreamed of, and you know that as she's holding, telling you everything with her embrace because her lips can't say it, that she loves you back.

That's she's _in love _with you, just like you are with her.

And even though you feel like you're on cloud nine, because it's what you've fretted over, what you've worried and you've cried over for so long now, because it's everything you've ever wanted, you still know that it's not enough.

The love isn't enough, because it won't keep you two together. And even though you hate that, it's something you can't fight; but it still makes you hold her tighter and take in everything. Like the way her nose nuzzles against your ear as tears leak on to your skin. Like the way when she breathes, you can feel her chest contract. Like the way she just seems to mold against you like you two are puzzle pieces. Like the way it feels like you're complete when she's in your arms. And like the way you can feel her love even though it hasn't been spoken of.

You two stand there for what feels like hours, clutching and clinging on to each other, but it's finally broken when you hear someone clear their throat and open your stinging eyes to find the driver waiting patiently behind Brittany. You don't know how long he's been standing there, but figure he was putting away Brittany's bags at first as you find them no longer spread over the sidewalk and force yourself to peel away from her. She gives you resistance, fingers digging into your back but finally gives away, squeezing one last time before you both take a step back and stare into each others eyes.

"We're ready to go, Miss Pierce," the driver cuts in, gently, his eyes darting between you two. "Your flight will be leaving soon."

It's a subtle reminder that Brittany needs to go, but it's a major reminder that you're about to lose a piece of yourself.

Your eyes move back to Brittany to find her crying, tears streaming down her cheeks and hands wiping furiously at them, but the flow is so heavy they're replaced the second they're gone. You just give a weak smile and step forward, your hands coming up to her cheek, thumbs stroking them away instead of her having to do it and her fingers wrap around your forearms, rooting you as your eyes gaze into each others once more.

And neither of you say anything, but you don't need to. You both know it's coming to end, even if you don't want it to.

You also want to kiss her. You want to tell her you love her. You want to make her stay here and you want to make her yours.

You want a lot of things, all of which include her.

But the thing you want most... is for Brittany to be happy.

And that means Brittany going to London and following her dreams.

Shit. It means leaving you behind.

"Santana," Brittany starts, choking out your name like it's the last word that'll ever leave her lips.

You look at her, like _really _look at her and feel nothing but love for this girl. You don't know how you ever went without her, and even though you never want to, you know you have to. Sometimes things fall apart for better things to come together, and you can only hope that you two will come together at some point in time because you need her. You don't love her because you need her, you need her because you love her.

You _really_ love her.

"You need to go," you whisper, not sure you can handle what she's going to say. You can see it playing on her lips. "You need to go because it'll only be harder if we drag this out."

She stares at you, the tears still streaming but you just offer a sad smile because this is it. This is her leaving and you can't do a single thing to stop it. You don't want to. You just love her too much.

And she must see it in your eyes because even though she's crying, even though you can see that she doesn't want to leave you, she bites her lip, holding back the words and turns away, stepping toward the driver who's holding open the door. She rests her hand on the frame of the door, and you stand there, your hands hanging beside your body uselessly as you watch her duck to climb into the car, but before she's seated, she stops, twists and looks you dead in the eye.

"I... I'm gonna miss you," she whispers and your lips twitch up into a smile that holds no happiness.

You step forward, nodding to the driver as to say you'll take this and he gives you a firm nod back, rounding the car to climb into the driver's seat. Brittany slides down into the seat, pulling her legs into the car and you study her body language, how her hands play on her laps and how she's leaning toward the door like she's holding back the urge to climb back out again. You'd give anything for her to do that, but you don't want her to.

So you shut the door, putting something between you because you have to and Brittany leans out the window, bringing your faces so close as you bend a little down to her. "Not half as much as I'm going to miss you," you reply and you've never meant anything more in your life.

You don't know how you do it, but you manage to fight the tears that threaten to spill and resist the urge to give her one last kiss because you know that's all you'll ever remember; the feel of her lips against yours for the very last time. That's all you'll remember, the thing you'll see in your dreams for months to come: the sadness in the kiss left between you two as you parted separate ways and this way, you'll be able to remember your last kiss as something happy, as something you can look back on and enjoy.

With quivering hands, you manage to push off the car and straighten up, keeping your eyes on hers as the driver calls to her, asking if she's ready to go.

You know she's not, and you're not ready for her to leave either, but that's just a matter of timing and it seems timing has never been great between you two and _God, _do you hate that.

Brittany leans back into her seat, twisting her head and looking straight ahead through glassy blue eyes as the car peels away from the curb and drives off.

It gets further and further away, and you step off the curb and into the middle of the road as you watch the car disappear into the distance, taking your heart with it; and even though you wonder whether you should chase it down, jump in with her and say you'll go with her, you know you can't. Your life is here, and hers is now in London, and that's just something you've got to accept.

So you just let her go.

/

**I'm just gonna go hide now and leave you with an apology.**

**(And ask for reviews if you think it was worth it. Thank you, and love you all.)**


	16. Chapter 15

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Fifteen]  
**Rating: **NC-17**  
****Length: **7.7k

**Notes: **Okay, I don't really know how to say this without swearing so... JESUS FUCKING CHRIST OVER 100 REVIEWS FOR THE LAST CHAPTER ALONE MY MIND IS BLOWN HOLY FUCK SHIT CRAP BAG. You guys are SO amazing! Also, my excuses for the lack of update are at the bottom :)

/

**February**

For the first week after watching that cab drive away with the only thing you've ever truly cared about inside, you don't leave your apartment.

Will doesn't question you when you suddenly sign off from work for an indefinite amount of time, and you know he'd usually get pissed at any employee that did that, but you suspect that Quinn may have mentioned something (or you know, he wasn't freaking blind and saw how you and Brittany acted at work when you two thought you were being subtle and figured out you're kind of really heartbroken and mildly depressed by Brittany's departure because you're madly in love with her) but that's totally besides the point.

He just shrugs and accepts it, then tells you that he'll give you holiday pay for two weeks and even though you want to say no, he says you don't have an option, so you just take it with a roll of your eyes.

It makes you feel a little shitty, because you know no-one else would get this treatment if they suddenly signed off work; in fact, they'd probably have their ass fired, and if there's one thing you really fucking hate, it's sympathy. Fucking sympathy and being treated differently purely because of something that happened to you. It's just a reminder that you're feeling shit, and you know it sounds like you're being a bitch and it sounds like you're being ungrateful, but you don't really care. You're kind of numb to other people's feelings at the moment.

Shame you can't be numb to your own, but hey, welcome to your life. Where shit _always _happens.

On your week off, you basically do a Hilary Swank in _P.S I Love You _and watch the _Toy Story _trilogy over and over again, sing along to _'You Got A Friend In Me'_, recite every single one of Buzz Lightyear's lines and end up crying your eyes out when the third movie comes on because it's just so damn emotional and because_ Toy Story_ is just so _Brittany_. You only watch that trilogy because they were Brittany's favorite, and you two always used to watch it with her when you two had what she would call 'snuggle time.'

But now you're just sad, lonely and bitter and so you don't even bother changing out of sweatpants and a hoodie for seven days and instead sing (badly), dance around (badly) and live on Cheetos for a week because you don't want anything else.

Even though you can sing well, dance pretty well too and you don't even really like Cheetos. They were just Brittany's favorite.

Quinn, Kurt and Rachel do come over and bring you groceries, trying to entice you with pasta and chicken, but you don't really want to eat that and so you just roll your eyes, tell them you'll eat it later and end up throwing it out days later when it's green and kind of really gross.

They stick around long enough to check up on you, and they try to talk to you but your answers are pretty vacant, and luckily they know you, so they don't push it and you're thankful for that. So they just kiss you on the top of the head (in Quinn and Kurt's case, Rachel just stares at you and wrinkles her nose at the bright orange stain down the front of your gray hoodie that's been there for like, three days) and then leave, telling you they'll call you each night to make sure you haven't knocked yourself out.

You tell them not to, though, because you only want to hear one person's voice down the other end of the line.

And if it's not _her, _then you don't want to hear anything else.

/

For Christmas, you and Brittany gave each other one gift—only one—and it had to be within a cash limit.

You remember walking around for hours upon hours, searching for a gift and it was only when you were on your way home, the hope of giving Brittany the best Christmas fading from within, that you walked past a tiny store and something caught your eye. It was perfect; it was within the cash limit (okay, maybe a few dollars or so over — a hundred, to be exact) and you just knew the second you saw it, Brittany would love it. You saw the image of her eyes widening and smile growing inside your mind and all of a sudden you were too excited and ducked inside the store and bought the item.

The closer it got to Christmas day, which you planned on spending all day together with her, you grew more and more nervous about the present because it wasn't what you'd call a standard 'friend' present. You just knew it didn't say 'best friends' but somehow you pushed past it.

Then before you knew it, it was the day and you were handing Brittany the gift box and the image you had in your mind when you bought it, was coming to life. She was grinning, her eyes glossing over and entire face brightening and she was throwing herself against you, tackling you back down against the sofa and pressing sloppy kisses against your mouth, muttering how grateful she was against your lips as her nails scratched against your scalp just the way you liked it.

And after a few long moments of your hands dipping beneath her shirt, stroking up and down her back and her tongue leisurely tracing the contours of your mouth and the curves of your teeth, you pushed her back and helped her clasp the silver chain link bracelet you'd bought around her wrist.

She'd gasped, hand clutched to her chest and she'd admired it before handing you your present, and when you'd opened it you'd mirrored her reaction because even though she hadn't got you a bracelet, she'd got you a necklace, a silver one with a single diamond in the center and after tying it around your neck, you kissed her and whispered your gratitude against her mouth.

But then you both began laughing because you knew, just like she did, that both these gifts were over the cash limit you set together.

"You went over the limit," she stated, the backs of her fingers brushing over your cheek as they came down from putting your necklace on.

Your mouth dropped open, hand clutching at your chest in a mocked gasp. "I did not!" You exclaimed but both of you knew you were lying do you lowered your hand and lifted a shoulder. "Okay, maybe I did a little."

She just laughed and wrapped her arms around your neck, pushing you back as she pressed her mouths against yours, and you two kissed for long moments. But when you finally got the upper hand and flipped around, pressed between her legs and came up for air, she just grabbed the necklace in her fist, smirked as she shook her head and tugged you back down by it, kissing you deeper, hungrier, needier.

And as you lie here now, on the same sofa, those memories flooding your mind as your fingers wrap around the cool silver jewelery wrapped around your neck, all you can think about is how everything went so wrong. How you never noticed there was more between you, and how you never realized how much you wanted her until it was too late.

You were so stupid for letting her go, and you did it with the best intentions but it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

If you could turn back time, you think you would.

/

The second week goes a little differently.

You wake up after a night of crying on the sofa, curled up around a hoodie that Brittany once borrowed, and stare at the ceiling. Nothing significant happens. An asteroid doesn't come flying past your window and you don't get a text from Brittany or from Quinn or anyone else that might kick your ass into gear.

Something just clicks in your mind, and you decide that you're fed up of sitting inside and not doing anything. You know that if she were to come back right now, she wouldn't exactly be happy with the state you're in and so you convince yourself―God knows why you do, but you do―that if you get yourself out this funk, she might come back. As if it was your stint of depression that made her go away; which is ridiculous considering it didn't even start until she'd gone, but you're not exactly in a great state of mind so it makes sense to you right now.

(It won't in months to come.)

So you get your ass out of bed, you get in the shower for the first time in seven days (gross, you know) and you change into a pair of shorts, a tank top, some trainers and slip your iPod in to a band and strap it around your bicep and go out for a run. It's the only thing you can think of to do to keep your mind from wandering, and to get you out the house, and so you just do a Forrest Gump and just start running.

Your feet guide you around the streets you know like the back of your hand, and somehow you end up in Central Park and you pass all the joggers and within an hour, you've already done ten miles. Your legs fucking kill, fucking _burn, _your lungs ache form the deprivation of oxygen and your throat tastes all metallic like blood; but in some fucked up sort of way, it makes you feel good because you're so focused on that, that you don't really remember to focus on the current heartache you're going through.

And when you get home, and stumble into the shower, your legs quivering as you struggle to hold yourself up, all you let yourself feel is the hot sting of the water, how it feels like it's piercing your skin but massaging your muscles at the same time and let your forehead rest against the tiles on the wall.

The thoughts don't come back, mostly because they don't have time to, and when you're done, you stagger into your bedroom and fall face first against your bed, falling asleep easily for the first time in a week.

/

You wake up after too many hours of sleep and your body is freaking _killing _you, sore all over, and not in the good way you're accustomed to either.

But it doesn't stop you, and you end up going out for another run, this time only seven miles, and you pace yourself. You even stop for a bottle of water at a street cart and slow down to a walk, just to take a look at the trees and the people in the park; and it must work because you feel a lot better when you get home, and you don't pass out after your shower.

Instead, you get out all your textbooks and notes from your lectures, spread them out across your coffee table, sit on the floor beside it and get to work, finishing assignments that don't need to be handed in for weeks.

It takes your mind off things, and throughout the week, you even begin to cook yourself meals instead of munching on Cheetos because actually, they're kind of making you feel sick now, and you know even Brittany would find the amount of Cheetos you were consuming horrific. So you switch to having a chicken salad for lunch and then you order in a Chinese for dinner, and try to get back your routine. Try to find some type of normality, some routing, in your life.

But you still keep your phone by your side, with you, the entire time.

(You're still waiting.)

/

The next day you head into work and Will eyes you curiously from behind the counter, Quinn too, but it's Quinn that awkwardly excuses herself from a conversation with a customer to ask you what you're doing here after following you into the back room.

"Working," you reply, like it's obvious, grabbing your apron and hooking it over your neck. You don't look at her, because you know you still don't really look like yourself and you don't think you can stand her reaction to you. "What else would I be doing here?"

Hazel eyes narrow. "But last week..." She trails off, her face twisting like she's debating whether she was imaging the mess she walked in on last week.

"I'm here to work," you interject, pointedly lifting both eyebrows as you tie a knot at the base of your back, securing your apron to you. You fold your arms and cock your head as you challenge your friend with, "Is there a problem with that?"

Quinn stares at you for a long moment, her tongue visibly swiping across her teeth beneath her tightly pressed together lips. "No," she finally says and steps aside, sweeping her arm out toward the door.

You nod curtly, knowing that she wasn't going to accept the challenge and argue with you here, and you make a move to step out the back room when you realize you've forgotten something and quickly reach into your jacket to grab your phone, stuffing it inside the front pocket of your apron. You see the way Quinn shakes her head, her face dropping sadly but you pretend like you didn't, instead heading on out to the customers, ignoring the way Will stares at you like you just grew another leg when you step up to the counter with the biggest, fakest smile you can muster.

/

You follow the routine set from the third week onwards, and pretend like nothing's happened when you're at work or studying. You have a rhythm, and it's easy, and you manage to quirk your lips up into a smile when you're handing over the coffee the customers and forget about Brittany for a while.

But it doesn't mean at night, when you're lying in bed, unable to find the sleep you need, that you don't think about her.

It doesn't mean when you're lying on the left side of the bed, hands folded on top of the sheets she used to steal, that you don't shed a tear at how you can't even begin to _think _about sleeping on the right side of the bed because that's where _she_ always slept. It doesn't mean that you don't eventually give in and grab your phone, reading through all the texts you two sent to each other over the past year, and it certainly doesn't mean you don't scroll through the photos you took of her, or she took of you, or you took of you two together.

Because at night, you just can't fight the flurry of memories and images that flash to the very forefront of your mind. You fight to keep them away for the day, knowing you'll just break down and cry because you miss her so fucking much, but at night they just come out, unwanted and unstoppable.

Then with those memories, those images, come the thoughts you manage to churn out. Like how it was so obvious, from the very first time that you and Brittany slept together, that there was something more between you two. Like how it was so clear, when you went to visit your family in Miami, you two were basically a couple. And like how it was so fucking blatant that you two were never just 'friends with benefits' because somewhere in the back of your mind, you always knew she was something special.

But apparently, the phrase 'you don't know what you've got until it's gone is true.'

Because you only know now what you're missing.

/

You keep your phone by you constantly.

You can't help that your eyes keep flickering to it, or that when it rings you almost give yourself a heart attack, or even how disappointed you are when you pick up and it's not her. It just happens and you hate yourself every single time because you don't know why she would ring you.

Like okay, you two left on relatively good terms, if you count not telling her you were madly in love with her good terms, but you weren't bitter or angry at each other. You were both just clearly hurt that you couldn't be together.

So it bothers you that she hasn't rang, that she hasn't even freaking _text _you.

But it doesn't stop you from feeling that tiny flicker of hope inside your chest whenever it rings or goes off.

You just can't help it.

/

**March**

A little over a month after that fateful day, Quinn calls you up and asks you to look after Beth for a few hours. Of course, you accept, because even though you kind of hate kids, you're pretty much in love with this one, and Beth comes bouncing through the door and throws herself into your legs at full speed, almost knocking you down. You laugh, bend down and peel her arms out from around your waist before you pick her up, grunting at her weight because she's growing up quick and still a little off-balance from where she almost knocked you over with her hug.

"Damn, kiddo," you say, stroking over the back of her hair, pushing down her wayward curls. "You've been eating your beans, haven't you?"

Beth doesn't get it and wrinkles her nose. "I don't like beans," she says, tilting her head to the side. "Daddy says they make you poof."

You jerk your head back, sharing a look with Quinn who looks equally confused. "Poof?" You repeat.

Beth nods strongly, her lips curving up and dimples forming in her cheeks. "Bottom burp," she elaborates and for the first time in five weeks, you smile a genuine smile and let out a genuine laugh.

Quinn's face lights up with a spark of hope, and you know she shouldn't be hopeful that you're feeling better because you're not, but somehow Beth always makes you smile. She's just a cute little fucker like that and sometimes you wonder how she's the daughter of Puck or Quinn considering neither of them think as positively as Beth does, nor do they even seem remotely related apart from the obvious: Quinn's hair color and hazel eyes, and Puck's jaw line and nose.

"Okay, sweetie, maybe you shouldn't listen to your daddy or repeat thing he says," Quinn says, stepping forward and dropping a kiss to Beth's head before her eyes flicker to you. "Are you gonna be okay?"

You hike Beth further up your hip and nod as she begins toying with your necklace. "I'll be fine," you reply and genuinely mean it.

Quinn must see it too because she doesn't even hesitate, just looks you in the eye and then nods before kissing your cheek and skipping back out your apartment, leaving you to play with Beth and her variety of Disney toys.

/

Turns out, Beth is the best kind of distraction because she constantly keep you on your toes and never lets your mind wander.

You do have to admit, you wouldn't put it past Quinn to tell Beth to constantly shove toys or coloring books into your lap in case you did start thinking, but you know Beth's actually just this playful and likes having someone to play with. Especially her 'Aunt Sanny' who apparently looks like Pocahontas.

It's all going well... until you're sitting on your living room floor with Beth sitting in front of you, who's coloring in a _Mulan _picture book and she mentions Brittany.

"Aunt Sanny," Beth suddenly says and your head snaps up, meeting the little girl's gaze and finding a pout upon her lips. You frown immediately. Did you do something wrong? "Where did Aunt Brittany go? I miss her."

Your heart somehow simultaneously explodes and stops at the name.

You haven't heard it spoken from anyone's lips in over a month. Not your own, not Quinn's, or Rachel's, or Kurt's. It's just been lingering about in your mind, invading your every thought and for some reason, it just makes everything seem so real again. It's everything you'd forced to the back of your mind, locked away in that mental chest that will never disappear, and the contents of it has been spoken about out loud, it's broken the lock and let the thoughts run free.

It makes the dulled pain brighten and strike once more, and you hold back a gasp, instead producing this strange creaking noise from the back of your throat as your eyes go wide and glassy as they stare at nothing in particular. You sit still, frozen in your spot and somewhere in the back of your mind, you register Beth cocking her head to the side in confusion and slowly climb to her feet, coming over to you and plopping herself down on your lap, but you don't shake yourself out of it. You just continue blinking at nothing.

"Aunt Sanny?" Beth tries to pull you from your state of mind, and it's only when she pokes her tiny finger into your cheek that she succeeds. You gulp, shake your head and glance around the room, your heart suddenly thumping against rapidly against your ribcage.

"Yeah, honey?"

Beth can tell there's something wrong with you, but you just take advantage of her lack of life experience and put on a fake smile, knowing she'd see it as genuine. "Oh, you're smiling now," she says and pokes your cheek again. "Britty always said you need to turn that frown upside down."

There is it, that name again. You suck in your lips and hold back the urge to cry. "I'm sure she did, sweetie."

Beth hums in acknowledgment, and you think she's about to get up but instead she lays her head on your shoulder and cuddles into you, her voice lowering as she speaks. "I miss Britty," she whispers. "I want her to come home."

You hold her close, wrap your arms around her tiny frame and pull her closer into you, making sure she can't see when you can no longer fight the heat against your eyes and let wetness trail down your cheek. Because you know how Beth feels. You really do, and somehow with her saying this, with her suddenly saddened, abandoning the coloring books and toys she was so looking forward to playing with, with you, you realize how much you need to treasure this moment because it's like Beth, a freaking _six-year-old_, is the only one who _really_ understands how you feel.

You know Quinn, Rachel, Kurt and the rest of the gang miss her, but there's something different about Beth. You can't really put a finger on what it is, but you know there's something different by the way she's so still against your arm and by the way she spoke Brittany's name. You can just tell, purely from the atmosphere around you, that Brittany leaving has affected her a lot too because they always used to play together.

You'd need at least another person to count how many times you walked into Beth's room at Quinn's apartment to find Brittany and Beth giggling beneath a fort made of blankets, munching on food, sneakily stolen from the kitchen. They were just so alike in so many ways, because Brittany always had a hugely playful side to her personality, and she was always bright and innocent and thought good of the world, just like a child does; but the difference was she knew that everything wasn't good like children do, she knew there was devastation in the world but she chose to look on the brighter side of life. It was one of the many reasons why you fell so madly in love with her.

And so you think that's maybe why you like Beth so much. Why right now, you feel like you're holding a piece of Brittany because Beth's the only other person who understood Brittany. She's the only other person who will ever be able to come _close _to missing Brittany as much as you do, and because of that, you want to tell Beth how much you miss Brittany too, how much you want her to come home too, because Beth's the only person who can understand.

But she's just a kid.

And vocalizing your pain is only going to make it more real.

So you don't say a thing.

Instead, you clutch Beth tighter and begin a rocking motion as you stroke a hand over the back of her head, turning your own to press a pacifying kiss to her forehead as you whisper, "Me, too, kiddo. Me, too."

/

Toward the end of the month, the news of Sugar's family's bankruptcy is spreading throughout New York.

You don't really know why it is, because Sugar's not famous and neither is her dad, but they're rich as hell and you guess that somewhere that matters. You're not actually even entirely sure what Sugar's dad does, though you definitely wouldn't put it past him to be some like, mafia war lord or something. The last and only time you've ever met him, he was wearing a freaking _fedora _and kept sneaking off into dark corners to make shady phone calls.

But anyway, the Motta's lose their wealth and one day you run into Sugar in the lobby of your building and she's telling you she's just bought an apartment here. You welcome it, because even though Sugar can be weird as hell she's been pretty damn supportive ever since... well, just ever since, and so you nod and smile, do all the things you're supposed to do and when she tells you that she's moving in at the beginning of April, you offer to help.

She thanks you, and when you part ways and you walk out your building, pausing momentarily to peer over your shoulder, you see Sugar talking animatedly on the phone with someone and you wonder how or why Sugar chose to live in _this _apartment building when there's like a million others around the city.

And that's when you begin to suspect that this is just another way of your friends keeping an eye on you.

But they wouldn't do that.

... Would they?

/

You can't help but feel irrationally angry.

You know this is part of the healing process, part of the five stages of grief you were inevitably going to go through—_hell, _you even went as far as Googling why you felt like this—but it doesn't make you feel any better.

You're just so angry at everything.

You wake up annoyed, lashing out at inanimate objects and soon enough your apartment is messy as shit because you just ended up throwing things about. You might yell at a few people at work, or strangers that accidentally brush by you in the street, but then the day ends and you're going to sleep pissed off and annoyed at yourself, at Brittany for fucking _leaving, _and the entire process just starts again the very next day.

All because Brittany just fucking_ left. _Just left you, like you meant nothing to her.

And it hurts, it really does, and you know in months to come you won't feel like this, feel so frustrated that you weren't good enough to make her stay because that's not the reason she left at all, but that doesn't matter right now because you have a reason to be mad.

You're _allowed _to be.

You're _allowed _to throw your lamp against the wall and smash your bathroom mirror with your first, making your knuckles bleed and throb and never tell your friends and act like everything's fine because she just fucking up and left _so _fucking easily.

You're _allowed _to feel like you just want to go to sleep and never wake up because your heart is broken, your body is aching and your mind is just tired of feeling so God damn _low._

Most of all, though, you're _allowed _to feel so pissed off because you're just hurt. You're like a broken clock, you can still hear the ticking, still see the life and that it's physically working, but it's just not functioning the way it used to be. It's not working the way it should, and it fucking _sucks _because there's only one person that can _truly _repair you.

But it's that person that's making you feel like this.

You don't know what to do.

/

**April**

Your suspicions about Sugar moving into your apartment to keep an eye on you are confirmed when you're helping her move her in.

Quinn's here, too, and you're carrying what feels like hundred of heavy ass boxes up and down the stairs since the fucking elevator's broken when you realize it.

There's a box in your hand, one labeled books, and you're just about to round the corner and head down the hallway to Sugar's apartment when you hear hushed voices. It's the low volume that makes you stop, and you pause, edging your way to the corner of the wall to listen.

"_She's gonna be pissed if she finds out, you know."_ It's Sugar and you frown because you're not sure what she's talking about, but you'd bet your bottom dollar it's you.

"_It's just for her safety," _Quinn says and now you definitely know that you're the 'she' and 'her'. _"We just need to make sure she doesn't do anything stupid."_

There's a long pause and you wish you could peer around the corner to see what expressions they have on their face, or whether they've disappeared but then the voices pick back up.

"_You don't think she'd..."_

The sentence isn't finished, but you gulp, swallowing thickly because it doesn't take a genius to finish the rest of it off.

"_I doubt it... but,"_ there's a shuffling of feet. Probably Quinn turning around to look at Sugar. _"I've never seen her this down. At the best of times, Santana's unpredictable, so I don't know what to expect. Plus, it's not like you moved here _because _of her." _You can imagine Quinn shrugging. _"You moved here because it's cheap and your friends live around here. Being able to... _observe_ Santana is just another bonus."_

The information makes your jaw clench, your brow set and your nostrils flare because you're not a fucking child. You don't need to be looked after and you know you're kind of a mess (kind of being an understatement) at the moment, but it's only been two months since Brittany left and you're nowhere near even ready to freaking _think _about getting over her because you don't want to. You don't even think you could if you tried, actually, but that's not the point.

You just don't need Quinn, Sugar or anyone else fucking '_observing' _you because you're not like, suicidal. You're just heartbroken and you need time to heal.

Still though, you take in a deep breath, shake your hair free and round the corner, pretending like you haven't heard a thing and when Quinn and Sugar both snap their heads around, eyes bulging from their heads, you just pause and ask what the problem is.

"Uh, nothing," Sugar splutters, looking all kinds of nervous as she toys with the folds of the cardboard boxes. Quinn just nods in agreement, picking up another box and moving into the apartment without another word.

And when Sugar offers you an apologetic smile, her eyes flashing with concern, you just put on one of your fake smiles and continue pretending like you never heard a thing.

Because you know they have the best intentions in mind, to look after you.

But it doesn't mean you like it.

/

**May**

You let the 'observing' go on for another month before you just snap.

It's been three months, and since the first week, you've rarely been alone; which, actually, is weird because you haven't been as down or as sad as you were in that very first week when you were parading around in your apartment in old, dirty clothes and lived on Cheetos for an entire week whilst simultaneously sobbing over the damn necklace you still haven't taken off, but whatever.

Anyway, somehow, wherever you go, you always feel _someones _eyes on you.

You can't even count how many times you've conveniently 'run into' one of your friends at the store, or had Kurt come in for a cup of coffee at work when you aren't sharing a shift with Quinn; and you know they have your best interests at heart, they don't want you to be lonely, but it's just getting to the point where it's purely frustrating.

And it's when you're in your own apartment with Quinn and Rachel over, and Rachel's wandering into the living room, two coffee cups in hand (apparently, not only are you not allowed to be alone, but you're not allowed to make your own damn coffee) telling you about how she's staying until later tonight because Quinn's got a shift but will be over later. You're listening to her, eyes focused on the TV but jaw clenching at her saying how nice it'll be to just be you and her, and how you two can stay up late and watch movies like you're a fucking child, and it just curdles within you to the point you can't hold back.

Then you're up on your feet in a split second, scaring the crap out of Rachel as she jolts and spills droplets of coffee on to the arm of your sofa, but you're not in the mindset to care because you're just so... _frustrated. _Your hands are balled into fists by your thighs, your entire body is shaking and it feels like your head's about to explode.

"Jesus, Rachel!" You screech, hands coming up to grab at your own hair by your ears before you throw them into the air. "Please, fucking stop!"

Quinn half-sprints into the room, eyes wide and searching but you're focused on Rachel who's sitting there, frozen with parted lips and watery eyes. She looks like she's about to cry, and you do feel a pang of guilt but it's quickly erased because the frustration just takes over.

"I don't need a fucking _babysitter_!" You yell, your head swarming with thoughts of how she was planning your night out like you're a five-year old. "I'm not fucking suicidal," you spit out and Quinn's eyes widen and Rachel's head jerks back, but it's not out of surprise, it's like they're shocked you knew they were thinking that. "I'm not gonna go and do something stupid, okay? I will deal with this by _myself,_" you press your hand to your chest. "_Without _drugs, or alcohol, or whatever the hell else. So please... fucking stop this," you thrust your hand forward, gesturing to them and the coffee in Rachel's hand. "Stop _babying_ me because I don't _need _it."

You know you're being a little unreasonable because they're your best friends, and they're just trying to help you and look after you but you _hate _it. You hate that they think you _need _to be looked after. You hate that they _know _how broken you are, because it makes you feel vulnerable and exposed, but most of all, you hate that you don't want to become dependent on people looking after you, of people being around you, because whenever—or _if _ever—you manage to get over this, they're not going to continue being there for you like this and it sounds sad, but you don't want to be left alone again.

You don't want to be lonely, but if you're going to be, if you _have _to be without Brittany, you're going to do it alone. You're going to try to get through this alone.

"We're not being your babysitter, Santana," Quinn finally chimes in, stepping up behind the couch, hands falling beside Rachel's shoulders. "We're being your friends," she drops her head to make you understand but then her voices lowers and you already hate what's going to come out next. "We know how much you're hurting. We understand," she adds, softly.

It's a testament to say that this brings the most visceral reaction out of you after months of just being numb, because as soon as the words leave Quinn's mouth, you're right there, shouting back at her with anger flaring inside your chest and it's the most emotion you've felt in months. You think it's the most emotion you've actually shown because the sets of eyes of you widen visibly and you see Rachel tense and Quinn jerk her head back even further than before.

"No, you _don't_," you hiss and step around the couch, coming face to face with Quinn, red flashing before your eyes. Your heart's beating so fast in your chest, you'd be worried if you weren't slightly relieved that it's still working after so long of feeling _nothing_. "You _don't_ know how much I'm hurting and you _don't_ know how much I miss her. You_ don't_ know how much I regret not telling her how pathetically and madly in love with her I am, even though I know it was the right thing to do."

Your voice cracks, breaks, showing the weakness and you wince because there are now tears in your eyes, but you don't want to cry. You don't want to show the weakness even though you know it's impossible to miss. So you drop your eyes to the floor, then scrunch your face up as you close them and let the pain tear through your chest again, the anguish from watching that taxi drive down the street, away from you, coming back fresh and sharp once more.

"You _don't _know what this is like, to feel so broken, so hurt, and tired all the damn time," your fists press into the tops of your thighs as you hold back the heat prickling at your eyelids. "And you definitely _don't _know how I fucking feel," you spit, finally lifting your eyes and opening them to meet Quinn's again. "You can't even _begin _to understand," you choke out and you can feel your bottom lip quivering, betraying the anger you're trying to show through your voice. "And I know it's my fault for letting her go, for not telling her—_I know, _God—and that's why I don't _need _your pity." You shake your head, your throat so thick now when you swallow it feels like you can't breathe but somehow you manage to gain enough oxygen to continue. "I got myself into this," you whisper, the anger completely sizzling from your being, leaving you with hate for yourself, sadness, hurt, pain, lingering in your system. "So I need to get myself out."

Your drop your head again, letting out a long exhale and closing your eyes at the feeling of something crumbling inside your chest. You knew this was going to happen at some point, that you were just going to lose it and snap, but you weren't expecting to feel like _this... _like you're still lost and cold to everything. You were expecting to feel a little better, that maybe forcing emotion out of yourself would bring you back to life a little, but you still feel... empty. Like you're missing something.

You suppose you are.

A hand settles on your arm, and you only become aware now that Rachel's standing beside you and Quinn, her palm resting on your skin comfortingly. You force back a sob at the gesture, and pull your arm aware, almost cowering away from the touch because you don't want anyone to comfort you. Not if it's not _her._

"Santana," Rachel starts, voice soft and low. "We know you can handle yourself... We just—we don't want you to be alone."

You wince at the phrasing, because it's one thing knowing you're lonely but others knowing you're lonely... you just can't. It makes you easier to hurt.

"I know," you reply, your voice hoarse and sad. "And I love you guys for doing that, I really do," you admit and let your gaze flicker between your friends who are staring back at you like they don't really know who you are. "But I _can't _have you guys always being around." Quinn and Rachel both furrow their brow in confusion. "I'll admit..." You take in a deep breath, your shoulders deflating as you drop your vision to the floor. "I'll admit, I'm not fine," you shrug and glance up because you might as well be honest.

There's no point in pretending like you're fine and dandy because you're not. You won't be, not for a long time at least.

"But I'm trying to be. I'm really trying, or at least I'm trying to _pretend _like I am... and you guys sticking around me, giving me _that _look," you lift a hand and point to Rachel whose head is tilted to the side, eyes flashing with sympathy and understanding. "And having Sugar move into the same damn building as me—" Quinn's eyes widen. "—to watch me like a hawk, is just reminding me that Britt—" you choke up, eyes suddenly filling with tears. You haven't spoken her name out for months now, and it seems it won't come out. It's just lodged in your throat, unmoving and painful.

"It's just reminding me that _she's _not here," you manage to continue, throat dry but eyes wet. "So please... _please,_" you beg, trying to convey how much you really _don't _want this _observation _through your tone and by the way your hands are moving, clenching to emphasize your words. "Just stop it."

And it must work, because Quinn, the woman who has something to say about pretty much _everything_ just clamps her mouth shut. _Shit,_ even motormouth Berry doesn't say anything and the strangest thing is that they don't even try to make eye contact with each other, to figure out a way of convincing you that they're just looking out for you. And you don't know what it is, you don't know why it hits you so hard, but suddenly you don't just feel empty. You feel empty _and _you feel like you're a lost cause.

Because even your friends, the people who know you _so _well, don't know what to do or even _say _anymore.

So you just let out a bitter chuckle through your nose and shake your head, feet already moving toward the door and hand reaching for your coat on the rack beside it.

"Where are you going?"

You barely even peer over your shoulder to answer Rachel, just lift your shoulder and open the door. "I just need some air," you reply and leave without another word.

Quinn and Rachel don't follow you.

/

**Right, for my excuse... it was my birthday on Tuesday and I've pretty much been celebrating since Monday night, so haven't had much time to write. I've had a pretty awesome time (so in some ways I'm not actually sorry for the lack of an update) but now I'm back and hopefully I'll start updating frequently again! Though I have got a few job interviews next week and if they go through, my writing will decrease again but that's not really relevant right now.**

**So anyway, I hope you've enjoyed and you know how we roll with the thing below ;) Thanks guys! You really are AMAZZZIIINNNGGG!**


	17. Chapter 16

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Sixteen]  
**Rating: **NC-17**  
****Length: **9.7k

**Notes: **Whoa, okay... I know, Santana without Brittany sucks and so I'm not surprised by the lack of feedback for the last update, but thank you for all your feedback to the ones who gave it! Anyway, as per my plan, there won't be _that _many chapters left... Though I can't tell you how many cos my writing changes so it could be 3 or it could be 5, but it won't be many :)

/

You know you need some type of closure, and for some reason, you think it's a good idea to start by going everywhere that you and Brittany went, to see if you can still feel what you did when you were with her.

So you go to Miami.

You know the second the plane touches down in Miami International that it's not a good idea. It already feels emptier, colder, without her here, and after picking up your luggage, you head out to the front and find your dad, already standing by his car, waiting for you at the pick up point. His eyes find yours through the throng of people, and when they flicker your right, like they did when you were here with _her, _to find you alone, you falter and break all over again.

Though he says nothing and comes up to you, wrapping you up in an embrace and telling you how much he's missed you in your ear. He doesn't pick you up from the ground, hugging you tight like he did last time, and you know immediately that he knows something's up. You suppose your mom said something about how you told her you were coming alone, how you weren't bringing 'your little friend' and it makes something grow inside your chest because _fuck_, you wish Brittany was here.

Anyway, he holds you closer, hugging you for longer than necessary, and when you pull away, he doesn't even ask you if you need help, just picks up your luggage, slings it over his shoulder and carries it to the car. Your mind flicks back to when he did that for Brittany, how he never does it for you usually and it makes that thing in your chest get that little bit bigger. Like you've said before, you hate sympathy, but something about him doing this, being nice to you, doesn't make you angry... it makes you want to cry.

Like when you were a kid and felt ill at school. The teacher or the assistant would ring your parents, and you'd be fine right up until they walked through that door, and then you'd just break down. Everything would feel a million times more painful because you were surrounded by love, and it was only then that you realized how much pain you were feelings; and this situation is just like that.

Back in New York, you have friends that love you surrounding you, sure, but it's not the same and so you could feel numb. You could push away the pain. But now you're here, in Miami, surrounded by family, people who love you unconditionally and always will, and it just becomes _so _obvious how much pain you're in. How much you miss Brittany and how much it feels like someone's punched a hole through your chest.

Your dad drives you back to the house, and he tries to make small talk but you're hardly responsive. You just nod along, hum in acknowledgment and maybe offer a word or two when he asks you a question, but otherwise he doesn't push and instead of being pissed for the sympathy like you were with your friends, you welcome it. It doesn't feel like your dad's looking at you like a kicked puppy, like it felt like with Quinn and Rachel, and you actually feel like a bitch for feeling like this because you know Quinn and Rachel were only trying to look out for you... but it's just not the same.

But you don't want to focus on that. The reason for coming here was to find some closure, to make yourself feel better, but all you can think about as the car cuts through the streets of Miami is how Brittany held your hand in the back seat the last time you were here. How you gave up sitting in the front, catching up with your dad like you did all those times before, just to be with her and _shit, _you're going to fucking cry if you keep thinking like this.

So you force the thoughts away and when you get home, your mom wraps you up in an embrace, much like your dad did, and it feels too tight. It feels like she's suffocating you but you push through it, plastering on a smile that you know doesn't reach your eyes and she just kisses you on the forehead and tells you she's cooking dinner and that it'll be ready soon but you can pack your bags away for now. So you do just that, and head on up to your room but when you get to the door, you freeze.

Because you can't sleep in here.

The last time you were here, you had Brittany. You had her in your arms, on your lips, under your hands. You had her everywhere, invading each one of your senses and you didn't care because you were in love.

You loved her, and you knew she loved you back.

It was in this place that you fell in love, or rather, that you realized you were in love. It was in this place, that you welcomed Brittany into your family, that they welcomed _her _into your family and it was in this place that you realized you didn't want anyone else. You just wanted her.

But it doesn't feel the same.

It isn't the same, and even though you choose to sleep in that room anyway, hoping that you might regain some of that... warmth, and sense you felt when she was here, it doesn't come. It doesn't come when you decide to go to the beach after dinner and when your dad offers you the ca like he did last time. And it definitely doesn't come when you go to the beach, sit down in the same spot you and Brittany did with your arms wrapped around your legs as you watch the sun set, to try to see if it comes back with another memory of her.

But it never does.

Because it isn't the same as before.

And it's not going to be.

It won't be because she's not here, and you're missing the part of you that can enjoy anything because she took it with her. She took it with her when she left, when she moved halfway across the world, and when you return home after your trip to the beach, your cheeks stained with tears and eyes visibly reddened, your mom gives you concerned glances and your dad sits worrying his lip between his teeth because you're not the same person you were before and they know.

You try to get away from it, and try to prove that you're not a complete mess but it's hard to do that when you go to take a shower and end up crying, half-naked, sitting on the closed toilet seat because the last time you were in _that _shower, you were with her. The last time you were in _that _shower, you had an epiphany and realized for the first time in your life, that you wanted something that'd been right in front of your very eyes for years. It was in that shower, that you really saw her, that you realized you really _loved _her; and in the end it's so painful you forgo the shower and end up crying yourself to sleep in your bedroom, memories flashing through your mind.

So that's why the next day, when you're eating breakfast, glancing at the chair that she previously sat in, remembering the way she held your hand as you both ate your favorite breakfast food (that she remembered) that you decide you need to go home. This place just hurts too much, and so you tell your mom and dad and even though they're disheartened that you've only been here for a day and you're already leaving, they tell you they'll pay for your ticket and hours later, you're hugging them goodbye and your mom's telling you to keep safe (though it sounds a lot more like something else) and that if you need anything, don't hesitate to call.

And you do need something, but it's something you can't have.

But you can't tell her that, so you just nod, put on a fake smile and climb into the taxi before heading off toward the airport, waving them goodbye.

/

**June, July and August**

The weeks turn into months, and time passes with the blink of an eye.

Before you know it, it's the Fall and your heart hasn't been beating right ever since Brittany left _six _months ago.

You know contact works both ways, and you know that Quinn and Rachel, and the rest of the gang still hear from Brittany every now and then... but you can't bring yourself to talk to her. She hasn't tried to call you, or text you, or even taken time out for a freaking _email, _and there's still times when you think about it and end up throwing things around your apartment, smashing windows and lamps and groaning the next morning because your superintendent is surely going to kick you out soon. But you never stay mad for too long, because you've never been able to stay mad at _Brittany_ for too long.

You never could.

Still, there are those mad times, but then you get those times when you break down because you just _need_ to hear her voice. You just _need_ to know she's okay, and not via Quinn or Rachel. You just _need_ to know that she's still out there somewhere, still thinking about you and it's those times where you just crumble and break, crying tears you didn't think you had. It's those times where you end up barely breathing, curled up on your bed, clutching to the hoodie that doesn't smell like Brittany anymore with one hand and pulling at the necklace wrapped around your throat that you can't bring yourself to take off because it feels like it's the only thing you have left of her.

And you _hate_ it; that you're stuck hearing about Brittany's life from your friends because you know you should be the one hearing about it instead.

But she hasn't tried to talk to you, and you don't think she wants to.

So you don't try to talk to her either.

/

You don't even know who you are anymore, and the worst part is, you don't even _want_ to try to find out.

Because that means being someone without her.

And you don't want to do that.

/

**September**

You haven't cried in over a month now.

Or rather, you make it a month before you do. But it's a new record, and you guess that's something to be proud of.

You're standing behind the coffee machines at work, and when Quinn slides you the next order, you freeze because it's September now and the customer wants a hot chocolate. It sounds weird, but when your mind brings back all these memories of Brittany telling you how sad it was to make your first hot drink after months of just making cold ones because Summer's over, you don't find it so strange anymore and find yourself choking up instead.

It's not like you haven't thought about her, because you don't think you'll ever be able to get to that point, even if she does miraculously return like she promised she would

(You've learned that promises don't mean a thing.)

But you just get choked up because for months, you haven't had anything that's surprised you. Anything that's suddenly reminded you of her like it did before, in the previous months where you'd always find something little, like one of her shirts stuffed beneath your bed, or that mug at the back of your cupboard that only _she _would ever use. After a while, you'd just found them all, gotten choked up at them all, and so when you find something new, when something new-but-old comes back, it gives you another dose of pain that's just as fresh as the pain you felt when you watch that taxi driving away, and it makes you freeze.

It makes all these thoughts come rushing back to you, ones of you and Brittany cleaning and locking up the shop, and the many conversations you traded. It makes you remember things you'd forgotten, and all of a sudden you're dizzy, heat creeping across your face and stinging at your eyelids and you just want to cry.

But then there's someone clearing their throat and you're being snapped out of it by the customer who clearly ordered the hot chocolate and you get this irrational urge surging down your left arm to reach across the counter and let some of your anger out, but instead push it back, forcing yourself to make the order as you ignore the concerned glare Quinn sends your way and the thoughts still going through your mind.

You manage to get through making the hot chocolate without crying by biting down on your quivering lip and you eventually hand it over to him with an apology, ready to make the next coffee and put all your focus on that instead of the sudden dull throb to the left of your chest. Though it seems God's out to get you, really trying to fuck you over today, because it's just as you're reaching for the next order that the song playing overhead changes and then you're listening to _The Beach Boys _sing about how nice it'd be to live in a world where two people belong and before you know it, you're dropping the order to the floor and running into the back room hastily, slamming the door shut and slinking down against it as the tears fall from your eyes.

One month. At least you made it one month without crying.

/

You never _stop _thinking about her completely... but your mind just sometimes gives out and refuses to do it because you can't take it anymore.

You never _forget _her because it's impossible to do that... but your mind just gradually begins to push away thoughts of her, thoughts of the pain and hurt that grips your chest every single day.

You never _mean _to give up... but your heart just refuses to take it anymore and you find yourself hopeless, knowing that no matter how many people come into work, or ring you, or knock at your apartment door, it's not going to be _her. _

And eventually you just accept that she's not coming back any time soon, and that she _wanted _to leave.

Eventually you accept that you couldn't have done a thing to stop her leaving. Not even declare your love for her.

That doesn't mean you don't feel like a total idiot for not doing it, though.

/

**October**

There are still _a lot _of times where you do think about her. But when that happens, you're faced with this sudden onslaught of questions like, is she dating someone? Did she find someone else? Did she ever get over you? If her feelings were true?

And it's then that you stop—no matter where it is, whether you're sitting on the sofa, or in the middle of the freaking sidewalk—you just stop and think.

Because there's always one question that catches you more than the others.

_Has_ she found someone else?

If so, is it some rich British bachelor with a ridiculous accent and a neat five o'clock shadow as a stubble? Does he drive a Mercedes in the day and an Aston Martin at night? Does he have a Land Rover or a Jeep, too, for when he needs to drive across his mass of land when he wants to go pheasant shooting? Can he give her everything you can? Are they in love? Does he mean more to her than you ever did?

You know your thoughts are ridiculous, but whenever they come to the forefront of your mind, you feel all kinds of sick and your stomach flips and flops and you immediately search out a bathroom, or a bush, just so you can throw up because the idea of Brittany being with someone else does that to you. The idea of someone else touching Brittany the way you did, kissing Brittany the way you did, _making love _to Brittany the way you did, makes your insides turn and heart leap up into your throat.

But you know it's stupid, really.

It's stupid because she's not yours; you made a point of not making her yours before she left.

So if she comes back—_when, _she comes back—and there's a British guy on her arm, or maybe even a British girl, you can't be hurt. You can't want to throw up at the image of seeing them together, or at the mere _thought _of seeing them together because _you _were the one that would've allowed it. You would be the one that Brittany would thank on her wedding day because it would've been down to _you _that she found someone.

And you hate that. You really fucking hate that and you'd give your left arm, your soul, your whole life to make sure that didn't happen because as selfish as it may be, you want her for yourself. You want her to love you, _only _you, and you know you said all that crap about her being happy and her following her dream, but you honestly don't know what you'd do if she came back, albeit happy, with a boyfriend or a girlfriend on her arm.

You think you'd lose it.

Still, you can't help but wonder how she'd feel if she were with someone else. Would she even feel guilty? Could she even do it? Would she be able to kiss him without thinking about you? Because you know for sure if you went out to a bar, picked up some nameless chick and tried to ease some of your sadness by fucking your thoughts away, you'd feel eternally dirty. You'd feel so dirty, so guilty, because you feel like you _belong_ to Brittany. You suppose your heart belongs to her, but there's more, and you're not even sure if you could do it... and that makes you wonder whether she could, too.

Shit, though; you've got to stop this. You don't even know if she thinks about you.

You don't even know if you ever even cross her mind like she does with yours all the time.

You don't know if the things that remind you about her, remind her of you.

You don't even know if she _cares _about you even more.

You don't really know anything.

And the worst part is, you're not going to, either.

_Damn._

/

**November**

You're lounging around at home on your day off, not really doing anything when you hear someone knock on your front door.

You think nothing of it, and reluctantly leave your kitchen where you were cooking yourself some breakfast and head on over to open the door. What you're not expecting is Sugar to be standing on the other side, and you're definitely not expecting her to be holding a package in her hand, one covered with brown paper and a thin string tied around the middle. So much so that you jerk your head back, your eyebrows pushing together in the middle of your forehead and you look at her with a confused and quizzical question in your eyes, on your expression.

"It was left for you," is the first thing Sugar says and you narrow your eyes because you were sure you checked your mailbox two hours ago, but whatever.

"Oh," you say and take the package from her. "Thanks."

Sugar stands there for a few moments, her eyes trained on you and you know she wants to ask how you are, what you've done because the last time you saw her was like, a month ago. You haven't been avoiding her, you haven't been avoiding any of your friends, but you've just kept yourself so busy with work, with studies, with exercise, that you've just barely had enough time to organize meeting up with any of your friends.

You used to go over to Quinn's all the time, or go out with Sugar for a drink or two, or even visit Kurt for some fashion advice, but now it feels weird because you're sure what you've done was selfish, but you just needed some time to yourself.

And you almost apologize to her, and tell her what you're thinking but when your mouth opens and your eyes flit up, you find her with an inscrutable expression her face, the cogs turning in her mind and immediately, you know she has something to say. Judging by her face, her expression, you're not sure you want to hear it.

"What?" You finally breathe out, resting your shoulder against the door frame.

You feel tired, not in the kind of way you need sleep, but in the way that you're fed up of knowing that people want to say something to you, or are thinking something about you and that they're not vocalizing it. You're tired, because you don't need judgement, or people sticking their nose in your business because it won't help or solve anything; it'll make it worse.

For her part, Sugar doesn't even seem remotely surprised by the tone of your voice, just swallows, wets her lips and chooses between glancing at you and the apartment behind you, clearly debating whether or not to say what she wants to. But like you said, you're tired of it, and you know Sugar means no harm by coming here and looking at you like she wants to say something, but you either just want her to say it or to go away because as much as you love her, you're just so damn tired of your friends looking at you like they're waiting for the final crash. Like they're waiting for the final break down which you just won't ever recover from.

"Just say it," you continue, shifting your weight from one leg to the other and nudging your glasses further up your nose. "Please, Sugar, just... say it."

Sugar lifts her head, breathing in deeply and stares you in the eye. "She would've stayed, you know."

You actually feel your heart stop beating at the words, the breath leaving your lungs. You haven't had anyone talk about _her _since she left. Not directly. Not like this, anyway.

"It doesn't matter," is your immediate response. You can't help it, you just have to cut people off when they mention her out loud, otherwise it just tears you down. And you don't want to hear this anyway because after all, how could she just leave you if you meant that much to her? How much can you, or _could _you mean if she hasn't even tried to _contact _you?

"It does," Sugar intones, reaching out and setting a hand over your forearm, her tone firm and understanding. "It does because if you had asked, she would've stayed," she repeats. "You must know that."

You find yourself letting out a short, mirthless laugh, even though you can feel a strange sort of panic settle in your gut. It's uncomfortable, unfamiliar, and you only find yourself freaking out because even though you've heard muted discussions between Rachel, Quinn and Kurt—ones they thought you didn't hear about how Brittany would've stayed—that was only ever suspicion. That was only ever them speculating, never confirming, but there's something in the way Sugar's saying it, there's something in the way she's looking at you, her hand heavy on your skin and eyes burning understanding that actually makes you believe that if you'd asked back then, Brittany would've stayed.

At the beginning, a few weeks after she left, you honestly believed that yourself. You had no doubt that if you had asked her, she would still be here, she would still be in your arms, kissing you goodnight and waking you up with her warmth in the morning. There was no doubt, but as time went on, you began to doubt everything. You began to doubt her feelings, your own feelings, everything that happened between you and somehow you ended up here: wondering whether she would've even stayed if you'd asked, when months ago, you were certain.

But that doubt did come, and it stayed, it lingered, it grew, and it's the first time in months that you honestly believe that Brittany would have stayed. You can't put your finger on why you believe it, but it just feels like Sugar knows something, or is trying to tell you something but without the actual words.

"Did she..." You swallow the words, finding it hard to complete your sentence. You haven't asked anything about her since she left. "Did she say something?" You manage to get out.

Sugar looks at you, her head tilting to the side and you watch the crease form between her eyebrows as her eyes narrow into slits. "No," she breathes and you can't figure out whether the sinking you feel in your chest is from disappointment or relief. You suppose the former. "Not out loud," she adds, her eyes dropping to the package in your arms.

But you just look away, unable to take it because you know Sugar's just trying to lessen the blow, just trying to make you feel better by saying something she doesn't actually know, but you don't want to hear that. You don't want Sugar to try to make you feel better by saying Brittany would've stayed when she doesn't actually know that.

And why would she say that anyway? Why would she bring your hopes up if one day, you're going to find out they might not be true?

You love Sugar, you do, but sometimes she really does need to learn when to shut up.

"Right," you say, frustration edging into your tone. You stand up straight, grabbing the door with one hand whilst the other cradles the package and you stare hard. "Well, thanks for dropping this off," you lift your arm slightly, the attention going to the package and your voice suggesting that you want to cut off this interaction now. "So, I'll see you... whenever."

Sugar's brow hardens, her jaw squaring but she nods anyway, despite looking entirely unimpressed that you want her to leave. "No problem," she says, bobbing her head. "See you around."

You watch her walk back down the hallway before you shut the door and head back inside your own apartment. You go all the way to your bedroom and throw the package down on your bed, putting it there because you know you'll forget to open it if you put it on the kitchen table; but you end up just staring at it for a long moment instead of walking away.

You can't remember ordering anything, and it's not like you're suspicious about what's inside because you receive things like this all the time, and this is probably another, albeit very small and light, care package from your mom since she's been sending you one every week since you left Miami, but you're still interested. It's only normal for you to feel like that.

And you almost go to open it, your hands reaching for the small bow but then your nose picks up on something burning, on the smell of burnt food and your eyes widen when you realize you left your breakfast cooking on the stove. In a split second, you're swiping your hands through the air and scrambling out the room, socked feet slipping against the hardwood floor as you run toward your now blackened pancake.

The package, however, is now half-hidden beneath your bed where it fell off the side of the bed in your hasty rush toward the kitchen, and later when you go to bed, you'll be too tired and you'll kick it further beneath the bed where you'll forget about it.

It probably wasn't even important anyway.

(Probably.)

/

**December**

You force yourself to pretend like Christmas and New Year doesn't happen.

You ignore all the decorations, all the offers, sales and children smiling as a fat guy with a beard pretends to be Santa. You ignore all the questions about what you want for Christmas, or what you're going to do Christmas day because you know nothing will come in comparison to last year.

Because last year, you were with _her, _wrapped up beneath bundles of blankets, eating the shittiest, unhealthiest food and watching Christmas movies over and over. You two made the one present rule, the one with the cash limit and you both broke it and gave each other your presents, and you know that there's no point in even beginning to think about celebrating this year because she's not here, and that means a very unhappy Christmas for you.

So you spend the day cooped up in your apartment in your pajamas, watching horror movies and comedies to distract you from all the kerfuffle of the Christmas celebration going on outside your apartment and clutching to the necklace still wrapped around your throat. It's been ten months, and you haven't gone a day without touching it, without looking at it in the mirror because it feels like it's the only thing you have left of hers since her hoodie stopped smelling like her seven months ago.

But it's when the sun is going down on Christmas day, when you're getting up and making your fourteenth cup of coffee that you realize just how stupid you are.

There's no reason for you realizing this, but you're just standing in your kitchen, your fingers fiddling with the diamond hanging off the silver chain around your neck and it hits you; you're still waiting for her and you don't know why. She hasn't given you anything to hang on to; she hasn't called you, or texted you, or even emailed you, and you know you're dumb for waiting for her because regardless of whether she has a new man in her life, or a new girl, or whether she's hurt that you just let her go, you did it with the best intentions and you two weren't just having sex, didn't just have feelings for each other — you were best friends.

So she _should've_ called, she _should've_ at least tried to make a freaking _effort _and as the coffee begins brewing, the temperature rising, it's not the only thing that does that because all of a sudden, you're _pissed. _You're pissed that she's not tried to contact you at all, and you didn't do anything wrong. Admittedly, you should've at least given her an inkling that you felt something for her, but she must have known that. She must have and you know that she felt it back, so she should've fucking called you, or texted you, or tried to talk to you in some way.

Before you know it, your hands clenched so tightly around your necklace that you've broken the chain, pulled it free from your neck and it's lying limply in your hand, hanging off your palm. Your eyes grow wide as you stare at it, shock setting in, cold and uncomfortable in your stomach and with your other hand, you shakily grab the chain, the broken end and peer at it.

You can't believe you just did that.

You just broke the necklace.

There are tears streaming down your face before you can even stop them, and your knees are giving out as you crumble to the floor, holding yourself close. It feels like you're caving in on yourself, like you've just broken the last thing that held you and Brittany together, and you know you're an idiot for holding on to something that might not ever be yours again, but you can't help it.

You don't want to stop loving her. You can't let her go. You never will.

Still, this necklace is lying here in your palm, seeming heavier than usual and you feel like you can breathe for the first time in months. Ten, to be exact. It feels like something's lifted off your chest, and your heart falters because you know you body doesn't wasn't this pain. Your mind doesn't want to endure it anymore, and no matter how much you want to hold on, you know that really, there's no point.

If Brittany wanted to come back, wanted to talk to you, she would've done.

She would've found a way, come hell or high water.

But she hasn't, and so as you sit here, staring at the last piece you have of her, you realize that she's not yours anymore. She never has been, actually because you never took that step, and neither did she; and you just don't want to keep fighting, waiting, trying for someone who isn't willing to do the same back for you. You're just too tired.

So you carefully fold the necklace up and tuck it inside your pajama pocket, the tear drops still falling from your eyes as you drop your forehead to rest it against your forearm, shaking it from side to side.

Because even though you don't want to let her go, _can't _let her go, you've got to find a way.

She's not yours.

/

**January**

You don't really know how to feel anymore.

You try to pretend like New Years doesn't happen, but it's hard to do that when the majority of the gang are barging in through your apartment door and forcing you to come out with them. But you still get to midnight and you still feel like shit because last year you kissed Brittany at midnight in the comfort of your own home and then made love to her until the sun began to rise and this time you're standing alone, in the back of a dark nightclub, wishing you were somewhere else, with someone else.

But time doesn't stop for anyone, no matter how hard you wish for it and the rest of January passes in the blink of an eye.

You keep up with the routine you've had for the past eleven months, going for long runs, working extra hard at college and picking up more shifts, and your friends keep on pretending like you're not heart-broken and keep on pretending like you didn't yell at them for trying to look after you. They don't give you sympathetic looks, or take pity on you; if anything, they act exactly how they did before Brittany left and you're not actually sure if that bothers you.

You guess you can't have it both ways though, and so you just keep on going as best you can.

Which makes you realize that it's not much of a life you're living.

Not without her, anyway.

Then before you know it, January's turning into February, and that's when everything changes.

/

**February**

There's a new girl, Mack, starting at the coffee house. She's done a few shifts already, but she's still in training and so someone has to look over her whilst she's using the coffee machine as the last trainee they had, left and tried to sue the company after scalding themselves. Apparently it's your lucky day because when you get into work, Will calls you into the back room and tells you all about the new girl and how she's a little rough around the edges, but mostly nice and so you get to look after her for today instead of Quinn.

So you get to it, ignoring the smirk Quinn shoots you because you _always _get the newbies, and you introduce yourself and get friendly with Mack and within two hours, you barely even have to correct her anymore as she pretty much has the ins and outs of being a barista down.

But when you're teaching her how to adjust the temperature of the water, you see Kurt and Rachel waltz into the shop, smiling at you and Quinn behind the counter and approaching it. You don't think anything of it, because they always come and visit and the coffee here is nice and cheap, plus you and Quinn give them your staff discount, and so you stay with Mack, making sure she's got this part nailed to perfection before you go and say hello.

Well, that's what you had planned until you just happened to eavesdrop into your friends conversation and pick up on something that makes your heart stop and blood freeze.

"... So apparently Brittany's coming back this weekend."

You knew it was going to happen; you knew it was coming up for a year since she left but you still feel like it's a shock. You still feel like you've been blindsided and your hand stills where it's twisting one of the knobs on the coffee machines, your eyebrows knitting together, mouth dropping open and eyes squinting as they slide over toward your friends. You're sure your heart's actually stopped completely, yet somehow you can still hear your pulse roaring in your ears and still feel the chills creeping up your spine, but you're not too bothered about your bodily reactions because Brittany's coming back.

She's coming home.

Somehow, you manage to peel your rigid grip away from the coffee machine and blink before glancing back at your friends. Your arms drop down by your side, and you can feel Mack giving you a perplexed stare but once again you don't care, you just stutter out that she needs to keep practicing the temperature as your quivering legs lead you over to the counter where Quinn's standing, serving Kurt and Rachel.

You know the second you get there, that they know you know, because all of them tense, their eyes drinking in the sight of you; and you guess that you've gone pale, or you're still in a visible state of shock because Quinn shuffles a little closer, her hand coming up to your bicep and her head tilting as her vision roams over your face.

"Are you okay?" She asks, warily and hesitantly.

You ignore her, finally swallowing and wetting your dried lips. "She's coming back?" You croak out through a short exhale, something lurching inside your chest for the first time in months.

They all stare at you a little uneasy, and it's ridiculous because it's not like they can turn around and pretend it was all a joke, that they were lying by saying that Brittany's coming back very soon, but they still stay silent like they're trying to see if it works. Though you just wait it out, because you don't need this bullshit, you don't need them to beat around the bush; you just want to know.

Luckily, Kurt must sense this, or read the expression your face because he finally speaks up after clearing his throat. "Yeah," he confirms, his fingers drumming nervously against the counter. "She emailed us this morning," his eyes flit to the side, to Rachel, before coming back to you. "She's coming back Saturday."

Your mind instantly counts the days in your head and you remember it's Tuesday... which means you have four days to prepare yourself. _Shit._

"Jesus. You two sound like a married couple," Quinn cuts in, trying to light the tension by making a joke out of Kurt and Rachel and how 'they' receive the email together, not separately.

But you barely even register the joke, your mind is just frazzled.

"Oh, honey," Kurt sighs, lifting both eyebrows pointedly. "If Rachel stood naked in front of me, I'd still be more interested in her hairstyle."

Light laughter surrounds you, but you find yourself staring at a spot in front of you as your brain goes a mile a minute, trying to process the information you were just given. You can't believe she's coming back. You can't believe you _actually _got through an entire year without her. You didn't even think you could've gone a freaking _day, _yet here you are, still living and (barely) breathing after three hundred and sixty-five of them.

It chokes you up a little, and you feel something resembling pride wash over you, but then that familiar twinge in the left side of your chest kicks in and you're wincing, the dull, throbbing ache settling in as a dry, pain claws at your insides.

You may have survived an entire year without her, but it still hurts as much as it did the day she left.

"Who's..." You pause, trying to find the right words to say. The right question to ask. "Who's picking her up?"

Rachel gives you a strange look like you just spoke a foreign language, Quinn glances at Kurt who glances back then turns to you and answers, "Quinn, Beth and I are."

There's something in the way they're looking at each other, the way they're looking at you that you don't like. You feel like you should say something, maybe ask about you tagging along and picking Brittany up, but there's stopping you from and you think it's them. Maybe they've considered it, already. Maybe that's why they're staring at you like they're afraid you're going to ask, and you're almost scared to ask to go yourself because you're not sure if Brittany's said something about _not _bringing you. Maybe that's why they're looking at you, actually.

Shit. What if she's actually asked them _not _to bring you along?

"I would ask if you wanted to come," Quinn suddenly chimes in, her tone wavering and hands wringing nervously in front of her. Her eyes dart around you face, waiting for a reaction but you stay blank, waiting for her to continue. "But there won't be enough room in the car on the... on the way back," she finishes, lifting a shoulder and offering an apologetic half-smile.

You find yourself nodding in understanding before you can even make the decision to. You dip your head, eyes focusing on your sneakers and you shrug yourself, trying to play it cool even though you're a little disappointed you can't go. It's not even like you wanted to, you weren't sure if you did, but now you _can't _go, you kind of hope you could've done. You liked having the option, the control.

"It's fine," you say, lifting your gaze again and plastering on a smile. They all look at you, calling bullshit with their eyes. "It's fine," you try again, curving the corners of your lips up a little further like it's going to help. "Honestly. I've got things... stuff to do, anyway, so."

Three pairs of eyes continue to stare at you, trying to figure out the sincerity of your words and you know if you change your expression, they're going to see how much you're lying so you hold strong; keeping your face locked and body still. They can't tell you're lying if you try to believe the lie yourself.

"Okay," Kurt finally says, breaking the silence. "Well, if you're sure."

You bob your head again, this time not trusting yourself to say anything as _no, take me with you _or something along those lines, a desperate plea perhaps, will probably spill from your mouth.

"Great," Rachel speaks up, clapping her hands together like a damn seal. "Well, if that's sorted then we need to go," her eyes shift to Kurt. "Okay?"

Kurt's eyebrows furrow, his eyes finding Quinn's in confusion. "But we didn't even get our coff—"

"Time to go," Rachel sing-songs, already grabbing Kurt's sleeve and tugging him out the shop.

You just stand and watch as they leave, and you know you'd be suspicious and confused if it weren't for the sudden news that Brittany's coming back, but instead you just shrug it off and turn back to the coffee machine, picking up the next order and getting to making it. You barely get to pouring in the espresso shots when a hand settles comfortingly on your lower back and your eyes slide to the right to find Quinn right there, eying you warily.

"Are you okay?" She whispers, too low for any customer to hear.

You move your vision back to the task at hand and think about the question. No, you're not okay, actually. The love of your life, the girl who moved to London a year ago, breaking your heart and possibly her own, is coming back to town in a few days and you don't really know to feel about it, or even how to react.

But you can't say that, can you?

You can't tell Quinn that you're inwardly freaking out and wondering how your first meeting with Brittany after a year is going to go, and whether you should initiate it. You can't say that you need to know whether Brittany pointedly asked you _not _to come to pick her up from the airport and why Rachel and Kurt just swiftly left after the slightly awkward conversation.

You can't say any of it, because technically, it's not your business.

So you just end up lifting a shoulder in a half shrug as you pour the frothed milk on top of the coffee and cap it, sliding it across the counter and say, "I'm fine."

Quinn eyes you for a long time, not buying your lies but she doesn't say anything more and gets back to work.

You don't know whether you're excited or nervous for Brittany coming back.

/

The days go by _so _slowly, and you spend your days trying not to focus on how nervous you are to see her again and you spend your nights planning how you can distract yourself from doing just that. You barely get any sleep, maybe two, three hours tops every night, then before you know it, it's Friday evening and you're at Quinn's, listening in to a conversation she's having with Puck over the phone about when Brittany's flight is coming in and whether or not he's coming here to look after Beth or Beth's going over there.

You excuse yourself shortly after, realizing you have like, seven hours before Brittany's due to touch down at JFK as her flight's due to land at 5am, and that you're absolutely shitting it, and you go home and choose to lie in bed for hours as you're way too distracted to do anything else.

It's three o'clock in the morning when you finally decide to get your ass out of bed, figuring as sleep hasn't come to do you in previous days that it definitely isn't going to now, and you keep your phone by you, knowing that someone, regardless of who it is, will text you to say that they have Brittany and that they're heading back to someone's apartment.

You try to watch TV, try to distract yourself with some sort of Robin-Barney-Ted love triangle in _How I Met Your Mother _but then the episode about Robin coming back from London to tell Ted he shouldn't get married comes on and it touches a little too closely to home. Sure, you're not getting married, but Brittany was in London and that was close enough, so you switch it off, groan as you throw the remote into the armchair and head off into the bedroom.

You change into sweatpants and a tank top, you tie your hair into a messy pony and put on your glasses and then grab your textbooks and laptop and head toward the kitchen table, depositing everything down before straightening up and planting your hands on your hips.

You doubt you're going to actually be able to study or remember anything from this session—your head's way too full of thoughts—but you guess it might be able to distract you for a little and so it'll have to do.

So you set down your phone by your laptop, take a seat and flip open the lid, reading over the assignment you finished a few weeks ago.

(You keep an eye on your phone the entire time.)

(Just waiting.)

/

Two and a half hours later, you're leaning back in your chair, groaning at the dull ache in your lower back and nudging your glasses up your face as you rub at your eyes. They hurt like a bitch, and your body is craving sleep but you know there's no way in hell you're going to be able to get it. Especially when you realize it's coming up to six and no-one's text you to say that they've picked Brittany up.

A flurry of thoughts rush to your head, questions popping up here, there and everywhere and you begin to panic, chewing on your nails. What if she missed her flight? What if they lost her bags? What if she never got on the plane?

_Fuck._

What if she decided not to come back?

You shouldn't be worrying because you're sure everything's fine, but there's still that little part of your mind, that little biting, itching part that's trying to drag you down by telling you that Brittany's back safe and that the only reason you haven't heard from her is because she asked your friends not to tell you. Which you know is ridiculous, because you've done nothing wrong, you haven't been a dick and you're not the bad guy here—not that Brittany is, but she's more of a bad guy than you are—and there's no reason for her to not want to see you, but you're scared that she doesn't want to anyway.

Maybe she's brought someone back with her. Maybe she _did _find a rich British bachelor and he swept her off her feet and then flew her back here with first class British Airways, sipping champagne out of fancy ass flutes the entire way. Maybe something happened to her, maybe she got pregnant—_no. _

You need to stop over thinking this. There's nothing wrong with her, she's probably back at Kurt's, or Quinn's, right now, and your friends might have just forgotten to text you. It's probably something as simple as that.

But that doesn't mean you're not going to stop worrying. That doesn't mean sleep's going to come easier to you now. In fact, it's going to make you panic more because you don't know _why _your friends haven't told you she's back — if she is.

You groan at your own thoughts, squeezing your eyes shut because you'd really like to get to sleep now. You're fed up and tired of your thoughts and you can hear your bed calling for you. But then your eyes drop to your fifth cup of coffee sitting in front of you, a cup that you're sure is cold now, and you know there's no point in even attempting to go to sleep because the caffeine's going to set in soon and you're going to be buzzing, so you might as well just stay up and keep consuming heaps of coffee.

You grab the cup and push out from the table, wincing at the scratching sound the chair legs make against the linoleum flooring and head into the kitchen to make a fresh batch, flipping the coffee maker on and tapping your fingers as you wait for it to finish. You sparingly glance around your kitchen, noting down you should clean up at some point as there's dirty dishes stacked in the sink, the kitchen island is covered in crumbs and you're pretty sure there's a few burnt noodles stuck to the stove when the machine finally goes off and you pour yourself another cup.

Though you decide to go for something a little different this time, your tongue isn't appreciating the bitterness of the coffee flavoring and so you reach into the fridge and grab the milk carton, pouring the remains into your coffee. When you take a sip, you moan at the warm liquid settling in your stomach and throw the carton blindly into trash, but swiftly hear the clunking as it bounces off and on to the floor and roll your eyes. You knew you should've taken out the trash.

You think about just leaving it there, but then you remember finding that little brown pellet in the back of your cupboard last week and figure you could really do _without _having mice, so you reluctantly set down your cup of coffee and bend down to swipe up the carton. You head toward your front door but pause, eyes shifting down at your outfit, but you figure no-one's going to be wandering the hall's at this time in the morning, or if they are they're going to look equally as shit as you so you open the door, rub over your face and under your glasses with your spare hand and take a step out.

But the second your foot's out the door, you feel a peculiar warmth, an aura almost, greeting you and your entire body freezes, movement halting without conscious thought. Your hand stills, covering your brow, and with that blocking your vision, you can't see the face of the person standing in front of you, but your eyes find a glistening silver charm bracelet dangling off a slender, pale wrist and it's all too familiar.

Because it's not just anyone standing there.

It's not just your crazy neighbor Mrs. Harris from downstairs, hammering on your door and complaining that you're making too much noise, nor is it your superintendent, coming to complain at you for Mrs. Harris (that happens a lot) or coming to complain about the milk carton that you technically know you shouldn't throw down the chute without a bin bag around it.

No.

Because instead... it's Brittany.

She's standing there, her thumbs running along the hem of her worn out college sweatshirt and her tired, blue eyes staring at you for the first time in too long.

She's standing there, the points of her feet turning in, something you recognize to be nervous, her brow furrowed in hesitancy and her lips parted as she stares at you, seeming so damn small with pinched shoulders.

And somehow—_some-fucking-how_—she manages to take your breath away at the same time you feel yourself breathe easy for the first time in twelve fucking months, just because she's here, just because she's looking at you.

But you can't do anything but stare.

So you do just that.

/

**DUM DUM DAAAAAAAAAAAAAA**

**That was supposed to be for dramatic effect... but now as I'm reading over it I realize it was actually kind of dumb. Oh, well.**

**Hope you enjoyed! Ish... I don't know, you might be mad or you might not be, but regardless, there's a little box below that's totally calling YOUR name, wanting to know your opinion. **

**THANKS GUYS! YOU RULE! :)**

**Also: I highly recommend you go and read the fic 'Paperweight' as it is AMAZING. if you don't, I won't update.**

**(totally a lie but I'm _that _serious about readingi t)**


	18. Chapter 17

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Seventeen]  
**Rating: **NC-17  
**Length: **6k

**Notes: **Another 100+ reviews on an update! That's _insaaaaane! _You guys are just... LET ME MARRY YOU ALL. That is it. I am proposing to you all now.

/

Your entire body floods with disbelief, your blood runs cold and you try to regulate your breathing, you try to get your lungs to work again, your brain functioning normally, but it just doesn't happen.

She's here. She's really here, right in front of your very eyes and she's staring at you like she doesn't know whether you're going to snap or whether you're going to run and hide.

To be honest, you don't know either.

Silence drags between you, but your eyes speak volumes as they meet hers and you want to say something, you're _trying _to say something but it feels like all words and coherency has just shot straight out the window. It feels like someone's just stolen your breath, your ability to freaking speak, and it seems the only thing you can do is drink her in, take in the sight of the thing that's been missing from your life for an entire year.

So you do that.

You take in the soft lines of her face, the slight dullness that's eased into her eyes and the darkness of her hair. It's not the bright blonde it used to be, and you know it's only been twelve months but somehow she looks older. She looks more worn, more lived in, but she's still excruciatingly beautiful and when she moves for the first time in a few minutes, only shifting to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, you gasp because it's another reminder that she's real. That she's _actually _here.

Brittany's back.

She's _back._

"Hi," is the first word traded between you two, and it's said through a breath from Brittany, but her tone is shaky, is quivering and weak, and you know she's terrified.

You can tell by the way two unsure hands are trembling, by the way they're clutching to the hem of Brittany's hoodie like she's holding back from reaching out and grabbing you; and you're terrified, too, for different reasons obviously, but you're still terrified and you don't really know why you do it, but you take the smallest step forward, your head tilting to the side as your eyes continue to roam over her face. Your hand yearns to reach out to touch her, to see if she's real, to make sure this isn't just some horrible nightmare you'll wake up to in the morning to, on your couch with tear-stained pillows and bloodshot eyes, but you don't know if you can.

It just feels too good to be true, to have her here after so long.

It just feels too good to be true, to know that you survived twelve months without her and that now it feels like you're complete because she's back.

It just feels too God damn good to be true to know that the first thing she did after getting off that plane... was come to you.

Because no matter how fucking incredible it feels to have her here, you find yourself unable to avoid the fact that she left. That she still left you for an entire year, with no contact or anything.

"Santana," Brittany whispers, and you don't know whether it's hearing your name spoken through her lips for the first time in twelve months, or the way she looks at you with an intensity that you saw over a year ago, but it causes an instinctive reaction inside of you. You don't know why it didn't happen the second you laid eyes on her, or why you've been standing here for exactly three minutes and thirty-eight seconds with your mouth wide open but you gasp in disbelief, overcome with this sudden feeling of being reunited with her over so long, _too _long.

Then before you're making the conscious decision to, you're zoning in on Brittany, so focused that an apocalypse could occur and you wouldn't notice, and you're dropping the milk carton you'd forgotten you were grasping to the floor with a small clunk and reaching for her, one hand curling around her hip as the other cups the back of her neck. Next, your body's pushing forward, pressing flush against Brittany's and the breath is hitching in the blonde's throat at the same time you tip her head down and bring your mouths together.

She gasps into the kiss, shocked by the sudden movement, by the sudden action, but you've missed her too much to care and your eyes squeeze shut at the feels of her hands coming up to your cheeks, holding them as she kisses you back. It's everything you've craved for, everything you've wanted for twelve months, to have her here back again, her lips against yours, her body pressed against yours and you feel something new tingle between you, something refreshing and light and you feel the tears running down your cheeks, feel the wetness merging into hers as she's crying, too.

It's so beautiful, but so destructive—it's a beautiful disaster—because this isn't going to sort anything out.

This isn't going to erase the fact that she left, or that you never told her you were in love with her and are still unsure of how she feels about you.

This isn't going to do anything but give you what you need, what you _want, _and in a few hours you know you're going to feel like shit, but it just feels too fucking good to stop.

Your lips part, your lungs taking in a deep breath and you barely give Brittany the chance to do the same before you're kissing her again, not wanting to part from her so soon. Her hands remove your glasses and throw them into the apartment. Her hands move down to your neck, stroke along your collarbone, tangle in the hairs at the nape of your neck, and your own hands struggle to find a place on her body, wanting to touch her everywhere but wanting to keep her stable at the same time; but you finally find refuge on her hips, the tips of your fingers skimming beneath the hem of her hoodie to touch hot, soft skin.

It's something that's only been in your dreams, something you honestly never thought you'd feel again and it sparks something between you. Fresh tears coat your cheeks, coat her cheeks, and somewhere in the back of your mind you realize that you're still standing in the middle of your apartment doorway and so you shift backwards, her body falling into yours, her feet stumbling against yours as you pull her into the apartment, kicking the door shut as you spin her around, her arms winding around your neck to keep you close.

Your hands drop to her ass, pulling her tight against you and she groans against your mouth, her kiss growing sloppy and so you take this opportunity to press a path of open-mouthed kisses down her neck, memorizing the taste of her skin against your tongue. You're unable to stop the flow of tears that continues to stream from your eyes, but you just want to feel good, you want to make Brittany feel good because you've felt so fucking empty and now she's here, now she's scratching her nails against your scalp, tilting your head back, staring you in the eye with equally glossy eyes and brushing her lips against yours too softly, and you feel complete.

And it angers you in a way.

It angers you because when she left, you made a promise to yourself that you would find a way to live without her; but now that she's back, you're realizing that you've only found out that you can't.

There's something about her, something that worries you to your very core because you shouldn't be so dependent on someone. You never have been before and you never wanted to, but you feel like you didn't have a choice with Brittany. It just happened, and you had no control over it.

Just like falling in love with her — it was beyond your control.

"_San,_" Brittany pants against your mouth, her hands pulling the tie from your hair, allowing it to cascade over your shoulders. "San, I..."

Your eyes meet hers, the hesitancy clear in both your expressions, but you can hardly focus on that when she's this close, when you can obviously see the lust, the need, the want and the hunger behind her eyes. And you don't want to think about the hurt, the anger, the mix of emotions you feel because she's here. After twelve damn months, she's _here_, in your arms, staring at you and it's just too much for you.

Her lips meet yours again, her tongue sliding into your mouth instantly and you whimper as her hands trail down from your neck and nimble fingers reach down to the hem of your shirt, curling and tugging up until you're forced to part as the fabric's freed from your body, thrown across the room. Cool air pierces your skin, but then Brittany's there, whipping her own hoodie off to reveal nothing beneath and pressing her bare chest against your bare chest and your hips are jerking into hers, bulge growing in your boxers as warm, gentle hands run down your breastbone before parting and palming your breasts. Your nipples pebble beneath her touch, your lips dropping open into an 'o' shape but then Brittany leaning forward, sucking on your top lip and coaxing you back into a kiss.

Your hands snap back to her hips, an automatic reaction and when she bites down on your lower lip, rolling your nipples between her thumbs and forefingers at the same time, you let out a moan so loud you're sure in any other situation you'd be embarrassed. But it's been too long without someone touching you like this, too long since _Brittany's _touched you like this and your entire body flares up at her touch, at her kiss, at the way she shifts and licks a path down your neck her hands dropping to the waistband of your sweatpants, thumbs hooking into them.

The combination of having her back, of her kissing you, of her pulling down your sweatpants and boxers and the feeling of you springing free and her hand wrapping around, is all too much. There's too much heat in your body and it feels like you're about to hyperventilate. You try to get a grip on yourself, you try to fight the next onslaught of tears that threaten to fall but you can't. But you need a distraction, so as Brittany litters kisses up your thighs, her fist curling around your throbbing member, stroking you in the way only she knows best, you manage to get a hold of her shoulders and tug her up, needing to have some sort of control over this.

You offer her a sad smile in the split second before you kiss, and you see her give you the same before you bring your mouths together, stroking your tongue into her mouth and letting your hands map out every inch of her, remember every curve, and dip and contour of her body as you begin to undress her. The kisses become slower, less needy, less angry and her touch softens as she stops her ministrations and wraps her arms back around your neck again, her nose nudging against your cheek.

It feels so weird, going from being utterly heartbroken to feeling so complete again, but it's weird in the best possible and you can't deny that it feels good. So fucking good and somehow you manage to push your thoughts away long enough to flick open the button on Brittany's jeans and urge them down her legs, along with her underwear. Your hands grip at her hips gently as you help her step out of them, your lips never parting from hers and you can feel your erection pressing between your stomach and hers as she brings your bodies back together again, touching and merging at every available point.

You can feel how ready she is, how wet she is for you as she grinds forward, and it flicks that switch from slow and soft to hot and fast and then you're back to clutching at her like you're afraid she'll disappear again, your fingernails sure to be making indents in her skin as her own nails dig into the nape of your neck. You stand there for a few moments, just reveling in knowing you're kissing her again, deepening it when you want and flicking your tongue against her bottom lip in the way you know she loves and garnering the hottest sounds when you want.

Because it still feels too surreal. It still feels like you're going to wake up tomorrow morning with an empty bottle of vodka rolling around on the floor beside you because if you're dreaming, if this is really a dream, and yet it feels so real, it has to be alcohol induced. It _has _to be.

Though if it is, you're going to enjoy every moment you can get. Even if it is a dream, and you're going to wake up hurting more than ever before.

"Britt," you murmur against her mouth, your hands traveling around to her back, down it until your hands are cupping the crease where her thighs and ass meet, your fingers spreading to squeeze the flesh, to try to reach for her arousal. "Britt," you repeat again, trying to get the word out around her kisses but she's adamant, keeping your lips pressed together like this is everything she's yearned for in the past year, just like you have. It seems she's so invested that the only way you can get her attention is by shifting your hands, letting your fingers stretch out until you're dipping into her wetness, feeling the way her body sinks against yours as she shudders, her knees giving out.

You're right there though, keeping her up and she breaks the kiss, tipping your foreheads together and you nudge her face up, kissing her softly once before you're staring into her eyes, your hands sliding back to her ass, maintaining the rocking motion you two had set. She exhales unsteadily against your lips, her breath hot, heavy and shaky, and her fingers rake through your hair. The moment feels a lot bigger than it is, than it should be, but you can't fight that affection and love gripping your chest as you let yourself feel the reunion surround you two.

But you both want something, you both need each other and you can't deny yourself any longer.

"Bed," you whisper, stroking your nose against her cheek before you kiss her softly.

She shakes her head into the kiss, her hands fisting your hair again. "No," she mumbles and for a split second you're confused. You're both naked, and you were pretty sure it was going that way. "Too far," she adds and you grin but then she's dipping her tongue into your mouth as you forget about anything except Brittany.

One of you begins to move, and you're not too sure who, but you barely have time to because your knuckles collide with something hard and you're pulling Brittany into you to make sure she doesn't bump into anything. Except she's already moving away from you, and you manage to bring one coherent thought into your mind to realize you're near the small table by the wall and so you hold Brittany close, your lips pressing against hers as one arm moves up to wrap around her waist to steady her and the other swipes out, purposefully knocking off the objects on top and onto the floor. She kisses you back feverishly, humming a moan against your mouth and you stumble a little as you press her into the edge of the table.

"Get up there," you rasp against her lips, your hands drifting down to her thighs as she reluctantly slides her hands out your hair.

You pull your head back, watching her movement but then your eyes meets hers and your dick throbs painfully so when you see dark, lustful blue staring back at you. You wet your lips, helping her up by grabbing her thighs and urging her up as she braces herself on the side and lifts, and then you're parting her legs and standing between them, whimpering when the tip of your member prods against the inside of her thigh.

She steals your breath as she flicks her tongue against the roof of your mouth, and you're so distracted by that, that you barely register her hand curling around you again and stroking languidly, urging you closer to her until the head of your cock brushes against her sex. It's wet, and hot, and your eyes roll into the back of your head at the same time her hips jerk when you bump her swollen bundle of nerves, but she's right there, cupping the back of your neck with her free hand and tipping your head until she can suck your bottom lip into her mouth and guide you to her entrance.

The kiss breaks, your foreheads resting together and the tips of her fingers toy with the fine hairs at the nape of your neck as you shift forward, lining yourself up and pressing in, groaning as you slide into her. Brittany gasps out in pleasure, her moans increasing the more you fill her and it's hot and wet and tight and you've missed it more than you thought you ever could.

You lift your gaze just in time to witness the way she looks as you fill her; the way her teeth sink into her bottom lip, the way a flush spreads up her chest and neck, and the way her eyes are fluttering shut as you bottom out inside of her, and your heart squeezes painfully tight at the image. Yet you try to focus on the way her muscles are clenching around you, the way she's stretching to accommodate you after all this time of the missed connection but it feels like too much.

There are tears in your eyes before you can stop them, and when Brittany lowers her head, her eyes finding yours again, you see the glossy blue and that breaks something inside of you. Your throat gets thick as you breathe out a shuddering exhale and your hands curling into fists as they rest on top of the table either side of Brittany's thighs. Pale hands come up to your cheeks, cupping them and you force yourself to drop your gaze from hers as you begin to move steadily.

It starts out slow, pleasure sparking through you and you can feel the pressure of Brittany's hands on your cheeks and the way she's trying to bring your vision back to hers but you can't. You feel like you can't because you're already on the brink of crying and one glance into her eyes, another press of her lips against yours is going to complete snap the last barrier you have, and both of you need this. Both of you need this connection, you can feel it in the way her hips tilt into every thrust, the way she whimpers when you find and tap _that _spot immediately and the way you can already feel the pressure building in your spine, the heat coiling in your stomach.

And it's stupid to think that you can't look at her, can't kiss her, because only moments ago you were doing both; you were _treasuring _both — but it feels more significant now and you don't even know why.

Strong thighs tighten and quiver in pleasure around your hips, pulling you in deeper and exhaustion begins setting in as you pump your hips harder and faster, a sheen layer of sweat covering your brow, but you won't let up. Brittany's nails dig into the skin of your neck as moans and groans fill the air, and you can hear your name whispered through her lips, the desperation creeping into her tone, _needing_ you to meet her eyes but you can't. You won't disturb your movements with the way you're making her and yourself feel, but you can't look at her.

You just... _can't _take it.

"San," Brittany pants, her voice hoarse and jolted as you rock your hips into her faster and faster, causing the table to knock against the wall. "San, look—" she pauses to gasp, her head lowering until her lips are dusting the shell of your ear as you're resting your face in the crook of her neck. "Look at me... _please._"

Frustration and pain slices through you at the request because you'd give anything to be able to fulfill it, but you can't. You can't bring yourself to look at her and let that barrier go because you spent twelve months building it. You've spent an entire fucking year building a wall around your heart and the second your eyes meet hers, you know it'll just fall apart and crumble to the ground.

But you can't deny that you want to. You can't deny that you want to see the look in her eyes, that you want to know if she still looks at you the way she did all those months ago because you know you still look at her the same way. Because you're still madly in love with her, whether you like it or not—that hasn't changed—and as much as you've regretted not telling her before, hated yourself for not letting her know before she left, you feel like you can't give in so easily now.

It feels like you've worked too hard for something that can break in a second, so you squeeze your eyes shut and press your face harder into the crook of her neck, your lips kissing, sucking, biting over her skin. It's the best you can do. It's the best way you can tell her everything without words, without kissing her.

"_Ugh,_" Brittany cries, her hands moving to your shoulders, to your shoulder blades, her arms wrapping around you and then coming back until she's clinging to your neck as you pound into her rapidly.

Both of you are breathing hard, skin now damp and hair tousled and messy, and you poke your tongue out, wetting your dried lips as the heat tightens further and further within you, and you know your strength to hold up looking at her is weakening, you know you're not going to be able to get your release until you glance at her and without conscious thought, you slow your hips, trying to let go of the rapid tempo set and begin sliding into her in a slowed manner.

Something in the way you move must trigger Brittany's attempt again, because she begins rolling her hips and gradually moves her hands up to your cheeks again, fingers curling around your jaw and tilting your head with a gentle pressure until your face is close to hers; yet you still keep your eyes closed. You squeeze them until your facial muscles ache, and your knuckles skid against the wood so you steady yourself and manage to not fuck up the rhythm by pushing one beneath her ass, palm up and the other griping at her hip.

Though it's the wrong thing to do because you're so distracted by making sure you keep up the way your hips are rocking into hers that you forget to not look into her eyes and then you're locked, staring into blue and feeling your entire body tingle. Her eyes are full of tears, her cheeks stained with a few dried ones and it chokes you up, but at the same time affection grips at your chest because in this moment, you know she feels the same as you do.

In this moment, you've never been more sure of anything else.

You can feel everything she does, by the way her fingers stroke delicately along the line of your jaw, by the way her eyes dart between yours, gazing at you deeply and by the way she shifts closer to you, bringing her ass to the very edge of the table until you're able to bury yourself hilt deep and tap the right spot that you know will bring her over the edge with a few repetitions.

You can feel everything in this moment, including the sound of your pulse roaring in your ears, and the rapid thumping of your heart leaping against your rib cage and the way her lips are forming the words you've been dying her hear.

And you swear, when she dips her head, not breaking the eye contact and brushes her lips against yours, paints those words against your lips but doesn't verbalize them, that you've never loved her more.

Because you may have built those walls so high no-one could climb them again; you may have spent months and months trying to repair yourself; you may have tried to live without her only to find out that you can't, but none of that means anything now that she's here.

None of it matters now that she's staring at you with unbridled love.

None of it matters now that she's clutching at you like a life raft, like she needs you to live.

None of it matters now that she's spasming hard, clenching around you in sudden waves and moaning your name.

Because she's here, she's back, she loves you and you love her.

It's undeniable, and the mix of witnessing pleasure take over her body and the intensity in her gaze, pushes you over the edge until you're following her in her release, burying yourself hilt deep and emptying everything you have into her, grunting at the warmth that encompasses your cock. And she doesn't give you a chance to take a breath before she's grabbing your face again and pulling you into a kiss, pressing her lips hard against yours and whimpering you both ride out the aftermath of your orgasms.

/

You don't know how long you stand there for, or when your hands moved to her thighs, or how you've gone many minutes without pulling back for air, but you don't care. You're just marveling in the way she's kissing you, in the way she's sucking on your bottom lip expertly, how she's cradling you and how you just feel so... complete, now that she's back.

Eventually, the need for oxygen gets too much and you inhale deeply through your nose, pushing your lips hard against hers and kissing her in the way you've wanted to for an entire year one last time before you pull back, finally allowing the exhaustion to take over you as you collapse into her. Long arms wind around your back, holding you against her and you breathe out steadily, your breath warm against her sticky skin and your own arms slinging low around her hips.

You stay there for another few minutes, getting used to each other and waiting for strength to come back, and you can't help it when you turn your neck, temple now resting against her shoulder and nose stroking up the muscle in her neck, smelling Brittany, sweat and a slight tinge of vanilla body wash. It's so familiar, so welcoming, and you find the corners of your lips turning up, your eyes fluttering shut because you feel like this is where you're meant to be. This right here, in Brittany's arms, feels like home.

At the thought, you lean back, your limbs unsteady and let your hands drift back down to her thighs, parting her legs a little so you can step back and grasp your softened member and slide out of her. There's a whimper, a wince, and Brittany looks at you with uncertainty when your bodies are fully disconnected, her legs closing again and body curling slightly like she's unsure of what you're going to do, or say.

And it makes you hurt, because if there was one thing she never did, was react to you like this. Because Brittany always had a way of knowing how you felt, or what you were going to do, or how you were going to react, and even though you've actually only known her for five years or so, it feels like you've known her for a lifetime.

It feels like you've been in love with her for a lifetime, actually, and you know there's no way in hell you can be mad at her, or bring up what's happened because right now, she's back. She's here, staring at you with soft, blue eyes and you love her and you know she loves you, too.

For now, that's all that matters.

So you offer out your hand, turning it palm up and lift your gaze to meet hers again, seeing the shock evident in her features. Her eyebrows rise a little, and blue flicks between you and your hand, and it takes a few seconds but then she's settling her palm against yours and you're helping her off the table, ignoring the mess on the floor around you from where you swept it off the table and you're pulling her down the hallway and into your bedroom, urging her beneath the sheets of your bed and sliding in next to her.

You're already reaching for her, your fingers gripping at her hip and her arm and legs tangling further down the bed and you know she's not entirely sure why you're doing this, why you're not yelling or shouting, or even just talking about her leaving, but you don't want to. You want to let yourself feel this, let yourself be with her for one last time in the way you two used to be before you jump into a pit full of complications and reasons why you two aren't together.

That's why when she finally scoots toward you, settling into your embrace, you don't even hesitate in bumping your fingers beneath her chin, tilting her head up until you can kiss her softly and whisper, "I've missed you," against her lips.

There's a gasp, a hitch in Brittany's breathing at the words, and she freezes for exactly seven seconds before she's pushing forward, kissing you harder, deeper, dipping her tongue into your mouth and curling it around the edges of your teeth, her fingers tangling into your hair. She keeps kissing you in the way she knows makes your knees go weak, and you welcome it, savor it until you're dizzy and you can't breathe and then she pulls back, squashing her nose against yours and looks you straight in the eye, her fingers coming out from your hair to rest palm down against your cheek.

"Not as half as much as I've missed you," she replies, repeating but slightly altering the words she uttered when she left a whole year ago.

And it's right here, in this moment, that you realize no matter what's to come, no matter what problem's you've got to deal with and no matter what your friends say about you giving in so easily, no matter what you say about yourself, that you and Brittany are going to be just fine.

Because soul mates always are.

/

After a lot of staring, a lot of touching and strangely enough, not much kissing, Brittany falls asleep.

But you don't let it drag you under just yet, because you want a few moments to yourself to stare at her.

You haven't been able to in so long, you haven't been able to take in her features and admire every inch of her face and its beauty because she hasn't been here. She's been missing from your life for twelve fucking months; she's been the reason for that hole in your heart, for the emptiness in your life and you know tomorrow is a new day, and tomorrow you're going to have to _not_ repeat the events of tonight and sit down with Brittany and talk because there's so much you two need to discuss.

Tonight, though, you just want to stare at her. You just want to trace your fingertips over her skin, map her out and remember her because you didn't get to do that before you two said goodbye.

You didn't get to treasure these moments, and so you're going to do it as much as you can while you can.

/

Fifty minutes later, you feel sleep trying to take over you and know that you can't stay awake any longer.

You want to spend the rest of the morning just staring at her, but it's already coming up to nine and you haven't had a wink of sleep.

So you settle down, your hand sliding beneath the pillow and you rest your cheek against it, too, your eyes fluttering shut as you wind your arm around Brittany's waist, pressing against the small of her back to bring her closer. She stirs a little, grumbles something unintelligible and nuzzles against you.

And even though you can feel a thickness creeping into your throat, the heat prickling behind your eyelids at the knowledge that tomorrow, or rather today, you're going to have to have one of the most difficult and painful conversations of your life, you can't deny that there's this bubbly, lightness in the pit of your stomach because Brittany's back in your life, right in front of you.

With that thought, you smile to yourself and crane your neck, pressing your lips to her shoulder and whispering those three words that you've wanted to for so long now into her skin, feeling the way something snaps in your chest, releasing this... _thing _that's been locked up for too fucking long now, before you lie back down completely, scooting as close to her as possible, pressing your nose against hers and resting your mouth barely an inch in front of her as sleep takes over you.

But you miss the way Brittany's lips curve up; she heard every word.

/

**Okay, I know this chapter wasn't as long as my other but I felt it was a good stopping point and you guys deserve some type of Brittana interaction and maybe a little bit of happiness so this was it. Ish.**

**Anyway, thank you so much and I can't even begin to explain how grateful I am for all your reviews/alerts. You really are INCREDIBLE.**

**So thank you, thank you, thank you, and you know what to do now ;)**


	19. Chapter 18

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Eighteen]  
**Rating: **NC-17  
**Length: **10k

**Notes: **HOLY CRAP ON A CRACKER GUYS OVER 1000 REVIEWS NOW! Seriously, I can't even with you lot. You're just incredible. You keep me writing. I love you all. Also, a belated happy birthday to my soulmate!anon on Tumblr!

/

When you wake, it's to an angel sleeping beside you.

She's lying there, tousled blonde hair littered across the pillow, tendrils of the gold falling across high cheekbones and pink lips and glowing pale skin, and you feel your heart clench inside of you at the sight, at the memory.

You can see the facial changes; the deeper creases in her forehead, the slight aging of her skin, the lack of freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose, the darkness to her hair — but she's still just as beautiful as she was a year ago, if not more, and you can't stop yourself when you reach out to touch her face, stroking your thumb along her cheek, down her jaw, across her chin, to see if she's real.

Something inside of you is still not willing to believe that she's really here, that she's really back, and that she's going to stay.

It's the same thing that's terrified she's going to disappear again.

Just as that thought processes, just as your thumb traces over her bottom lip and your mind reels back to the feel of it pressed against your lips, you feel her stir and the breath catches in your throat when you lift your gaze to find bright blue staring back at you. The light filtering in through the blinds behind her creates a halo around her face, and the image of her, lying there, the pale and blonde highlighted against the blackness of your bedsheets, honestly takes your breath away.

You don't think you've ever been so simultaneously affectionate, loving and frightened at the same time.

You pull your hand back when she says nothing in greeting, though before you can tuck it beneath your pillow, she makes a grab for it, long fingers wrapping around your smaller ones and tugging your hand until it lays in the space between you. She doesn't make a move to tangle her fingers through yours, and you hold back on the urge to do it, instead letting your palm press against the cool mattress. It's more than you should really be giving her, anyway.

Silence drags between you two, time stretches, too, and you take these quiet moments to memorize every inch of her face, your vision dropping to her lips when her tongue pokes out to wet them. You want to kiss her, you want to touch her, but there's something holding you back and when she takes in a deep breath, you know you can't avoid it any longer.

Your hand moves back almost automatically, her face twisting and eyes flashing with rejection but you can only offer a sad smile in return as you shift and roll onto your stomach, your arms sliding beneath the pillow, head turning and cheek pressing to it so you can continue staring at her.

Then it's time to speak, and you inhale deeply, your lungs filling and head swimming with her scent as you prepare your words.

Except she speaks first.

"I thought you wouldn't be here," she breathes.

Your first reaction is to scoff, because really? That's slightly hypocritical. But then you stare into her eyes a little longer and you see the fear lingering behind them and it makes all the bitterness, all the anger, the typical Santana Lopez bitch-tastic reaction, seep from your body. With anyone else, you would've snapped, made a biting remark, a scathing comment, but you can't even find it within yourself to treat Brittany the way you treat everyone else. You never have been able to.

"I don't think I could leave if I wanted to," you sigh, your eyes never leaving hers.

The corners of her lips curve, a slight redness creeping across her cheeks and she twists her head, half-hiding her face into the black pillowcase, one blue eye peeling open to peek up at you, but you don't want her to hide her face. You've missed it too much, it's been gone for too long, and your hand's stretching out, the back of your fingers brushing across her cheek before you can even stop it, your thoughts coming out in words.

"Don't hide your face," you whisper, your voice raspy, hoarse; a reminder of what you spent the early hours of this morning doing. "I haven't seen it in so long."

She reveals her entire face without a seconds hesitation, the honesty and meaning running deep within your words and both of you just stare, breathing softly, taking in the view of each other for long moments. And it hits you, really smacks you in the gut, when you realize that you could just stay here forever. There's just something so addictive, so beautiful, so enticing about her, and you honestly don't know, really don't freaking know, how you went so long without looking into her eyes, without hearing her voice and seeing her face.

So you just watch her, the way she slowly blinks and how her chest rises and falls when she takes a breath. You ache from it, your heart increasing its beat.

You can't even begin to explain how much you've missed her.

"Santana," you hear, your eyes drifting to meet blue. You suck in your bottom lip and tip your head, a silent response to her words. "Santana, I—" she gulps, glances away briefly. "Did you mean what you said?"

Unsure of what she means, you tilt your head as much as you can, a perfectly shaped eyebrow lifting half an inch. "What did I say?" You ask through a breath.

She pauses, stutters, her eyes nervously darting away from your face to the room around you. You want to press her, want to know what she's asking, but then your mind goes back the events of last nights, the words that left your lips and you find yourself pausing, too. Your entire body stills, your muscles tensing, revealing the tenderness buried within them and you don't know what to do, what to say. Should you just speak the truth? Should you take it back? Should you get an ounce of revenge on her?

You almost laugh at yourself — you could never do the latter.

"You said..."

"I said I love you."

Blue eyes widen comically so, shock setting into Brittany's features but you just suck your lips into your mouth. What's the point in denying it?

"Yeah," she lets out through a long exhale, her head nodding and body shifting, scooting subtly closer. Her hand drops further down the bed until her fingertips are barely touching the skin of your hip, lodging just beneath your stomach as it presses against the mattress, and she wiggles it a little, urging the black sheet, covering only your lower half, further down to reveal more sensitive skin. It kills you that she still remembers where and how to touch you.

"Did you mean it?" She finally asks quietly, and you're not surprised because you were waiting for it. You knew from the moment she mentioned it that at some point you'd have to answer this.

And it seems so pointless now to lie. It seems so pointless to deny it after this long because for twelve months, for three hundred and sixty five days, for eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty-five hours, you've wanted nothing more than to hear her voice, to make sure she's okay, to tell her all the things you should've done before she left. All you've wanted to do is to love her, to make her yours, to do everything you can to make her smile, and even if that means breaking down these walls you've tried so damn hard to build, even if that means you're going to have to go back on all the progress you've somehow managed to make in this past year... you're going to do it.

Because you've denied her for so long. You've denied _yourself_ for so long, and you meant what you said to Quinn over a year ago; it's _exhausting_ having to pretend like you're not in love with her. It's exhausting having to pretend like you're just best friends, like your heart doesn't beat for her.

So you don't.

"Yeah," you say. "I meant it."

There's a beat of silence between you, a beat where vulnerability pulses through you, spiking against your skin and warming your face, and Brittany's biting her tongue between her teeth, her brow furrowed but eyes full of relief. But then it's gone because you know that look, you've seen that look a thousand times and even though she hasn't asked anything, even though there's definitely a lot of uncertainty between you two, a hell of a lot of things you need to talk about, you find yourself nodding.

Then she's moving in slowly, her eyes gazing into yours as she leans in, nudging your noses together once, moving a little lower and taking in a deep breath as she holds herself. She doesn't move any further, and you're staring straight at her, wanting to know why she isn't kissing you yet but you know it's because she doesn't know if she can. She doesn't know how you're going to react, even though you already nodded, and it breaks something within you because whether you like it or not, she knows you better than you know yourself, better than anyone does, actually and it's why you can't deny yourself any longer and close the gap between you.

Your lips brush against hers, barely even touching once, and your eyes flutter shut at the feel; but then you're pulling back, sucking in a shaky breath and moving in again, holding your lips against hers until she's parting hers, gradually letting you in until you're shifting and sucking on her bottom lip. Your hand comes out from beneath the pillow to rest against her cheek, her hand creeps onto your back, settling at the base of it and you kiss her slowly and gently, remembering every kiss you've ever had with everyone in your life and how no-one will ever compare to her.

You let it go on for a while, never deepening it further than just the soft press of her lips against yours, and you just feel the way your heart pounds, the way you can feel hers doing the same, matching the rhythm of yours and how it feels so perfect, so right.

It feels like the past year never happened, like she never left, like you never knew what it was like to need her, to love her, to miss her, and you know it's stupid because reality's going to hit you in the face soon. It's going to kick you in the ass and make you feel like shit again, but you just want to hold onto this feeling for a little longer. You want to hold onto the feeling and the memory of the way she tastes, she way she kisses you and the way somehow sends butterflies throughout your body; from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

And you don't know when it stops, or even who stops it, but before you know it, your lips are parting from hers with a dry pop and she's scooting to you, her front pressing against your side, her arm winding around her waist and her face resting on the same pillow and her nose squashed against yours. Her eyes are so close, her lips, too, and you ache to kiss her again, but then she's speaking and you can't deny her request.

"Say it," she commands softly, her hand drifting up your back, following the notches of your spine until her fingers twist the ends of your hair. "Please," she begs, because that's the only word to describe her tone. "Please... say it."

Your immediate response is to deny her. To tell her you won't say it because there's a small part of your brain that wants to be petty. That wants to know why she isn't saying it first, but you don't want to argue with her, and you certainly don't want to hold it back any longer.

So you sigh, and move your head until your lips are ghosting over hers, your breath kissing her because you can't. You can't when you're about to say the thing that's been eating you up for so long. You can't when you're about to seize the opportunity you've purposefully skipped so many times before. You can't when you're about to tell someone, for the first time in your entire freaking life, that you've fallen madly and deeply in love with them.

You've already let this chance go by multiple times, and even though it's not magically going to fix everything, you just need to say it.

You've held it back for too long. Kept it locked away for too long.

And you're just not going to do it anymore.

"I.." You swallow, wet your lips and let your eyes fall shut briefly, calming yourself with an exhale through your nose. "I'm in love with you," you whisper against her mouth, your eyes squeezing shut again at the rush of intensity that flushes through you. You can't believe you've just said it. After all this time, after everything, you've just fucking _said it_. "I love you, Brittany," you continue, the words hushed against Brittany's lips. "And I—"

You don't get to continue with your declaration, you don't get to make a speech and tell her that you think she's the only one for you and that you've been a mess ever since she left because she's pushing your shoulder and rolling you, then throwing a leg either side of your hips and covering your body with her own. Her lips are next, pressing against yours and you muffle a moan as your hands shoot to her hips to keep her steady.

Though you don't get to kiss her for long before you feel wetness dripping onto your cheeks, taste the salt in her kiss and feel her body wrack with a sob and you're breaking the kiss, holding her face in your hands and wiping away the tears with the pad of your thumbs. She stares down at you, her eyes growing red and her face scrunching up as she rests her forehead against yours, though she never breaks eye contact.

And your heart aches at the sight. It clenches inside your chest, twisting uncomfortably and you know back in your bitter, angry phase, you would've enjoyed this sight; you would've enjoyed knowing that she was pained, that she was suffering because you're kind of fucked up like that, but now you hate it.

Now you hate yourself for even _thinking _that once upon a time, you might have enjoyed this.

So you just do the only thing you can think of, the only thing you know to do to make her smile, and kiss her, bringing her face down with your hands and stroking the tips of your fingers along the hinge of her jaw, delicately tracing her features. It takes a few repetitions of it, a few simple pecks against her lips, but eventually she sniffles and edges back a little, enough to wipe the heel of her hand over her eyes to stop anymore tears from falling as the corners of her lips turn up.

You just watch her, admire her movements, fall in love with every shift of her body, but it's as you're doing that, that you feel something curdle, something tighten within you and you realize she hasn't said it back.

Before the panic and fear can settle in, you decide to demand it of her like she did with you. "Please, say it," you mutter, dusting kisses across her jaw, across her cheeks, over her nose and down to her lips again. "Please," your voice breaks, cracks, revealing the vulnerability and weakness you feel. "Please say you love me back."

You keep pressing kisses over her skin until long fingers wrap around your wrists and urge your hands away from her face. Your heart skips a beat at the touch, the uncertainty of whether to feel frightened that she stopped you and peeled your hands away, or whether to feel happy that she's gazing you in the eye, the blue strong and sure as it stares down at you. Though you stay frozen, stay without a breath leaving or coming through your lips and you just wait.

And it's silent for too long, just the rapid beating of your heart and the almost deafening volume of your pulsing screaming inside your ears, but for some reason you don't feel scared. You don't feel like this moment's going to make or break you, because in spite of all the previous doubt, the pain, the hurt and dull ache of missing her, you don't feel like she's going to walk out on you again. And it's stupid really, because nothing's been set in stone. There's still a chance that she could be back in New York for a day and flying off to somewhere else, but you just guess that you want to make the best of what you had now as you didn't before.

(There's also a part of you that truly, honestly believes Brittany isn't going to leave you again.)

Your thoughts are swiftly cut off when Brittany's hands grab at your face and gently push your head back against the pillow so she can meet your eye and look down at you seriously. Her thumb strokes over your cheek, but her grip is firm and it's confusing because the expression on her face is inscrutable, impossible to read, though her eyes are a dark blue and you can actually see the affection flashing behind them.

Your own hands come up to hold her wrists, keeping her palms against your face and you gulp, unsure of what's to come.

But really, you should've known all along.

"Santana," she says, her voice low and stern. Your heart thumps loudly against your ribcage, and you take in one deep breath before you hear the result. "I love you more than I thought I was capable of loving someone," she breathes out, tears forming in her eyes as they dart between each of yours. She licks her lips. "I shouldn't have left, and I love you," she shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut briefly. "And I don't work right without you and I—"

This time it's you that cuts _her _off, even though you do it in the same way she did. Your lips press against hers hard, your tongue eagerly dipping into her mouth and your hands move from her wrists up to her hair, tangling through it as you stroke your tongue against hers. She whimpers into the kiss, her body beginning to rock against yours, her hips rolling against yours, and you know you shouldn't be focusing on the blood rushing to your groin and _should _be focusing on talking it out with her. You know you _shouldn't _be focusing on trailing your hand down her chest and groaning against her mouth at the wetness you find between her legs because the declarations you and Brittany just traded haven't really changed anything.

You know you _shouldn't _be rolling her over, letting her wrap a hand around your cock and stroking it until you're fully hard, then lining it up with her entrance and urging you inside of her, because it's probably not the most productive thing you could be doing with her right now — you could be healing your heart and figuring out what the fuck is going on between you two — but now you're inside her and you can't really bring yourself to stop making love to her.

You just need her too much.

And okay, maybe there's still a long way to go, but you're making baby steps and for now, you're just going to enjoy the present; because today, right now, is for you and Brittany.

You can deal with the other shit later.

/

You and Brittany spend the entire day making love to each other.

After you finish a round, you roll off her, hand pressed against your forehead as you attempt to catch your breath, but barely five minutes later, her lips are pressing against your neck, her tongue's flicking out against your nipple and her hand's trailing down your stomach and you're reacting in the only way you know how. It isn't all her; you can't seem to keep your hands off her either, and if she isn't making the first move on you, you're tilting your head against the pillow, taking in her glistening skin and heaving chest and you're moving on top of her, pushing your way between her thighs and kissing her again.

Neither of you even think about getting out of bed until you've just finished your like, hundredth round and she's collapsing face down onto the bed, you're following her but shifting her right and draping an arm over her lower back. Her stomach rumbles loudly, and you two are so caught up in this love fueled sex haze that you don't even think about the serious topics to come and instead burst into laughter, turning your heads until you're staring at each other with shy smiles.

"You hungry?" You ask, your fingers tickling over the dimples in her lower back.

She nods, pushing her arms beneath her pillow. "Starving," she over exaggerates with a waggle of her eyebrows. You chuckle throatily. "How's pizza looking?"

You grin and spot her phone on the bedside table to her left, bobbing your head in approval. Your body shifts, and with weak arms, you push up and drape the top half of your body over hers as you reach for it, not even bothering to slide off as you dial the pizza delivery store and order for both you and Brittany as you've done so many times before. When you hang up, you drop her phone back to the table and move to shift off, but then she's turning onto her back and staring up at you, twisting the strands of your hair fallen above her between her fingers.

"What?" You question quietly, cocking your head to the side. You're not sure of why she's staring at you so softly, like you're the best thing she's ever seen.

She turns the corners of her lips up into a shy smile and gazes at you for a little longer, but then shakes her head, her eyes dropping to her own fingers, wrapped up in your hair. "It's nothing," she replies through a breath, her eyes tearing up.

You almost get to prying more, to getting the real reason out of her, but then she's smiling sadly up at you and you get it, but you don't want this day to turn serious. You don't want to deal with all this crap right now because she's back, she's here, she's beneath you and you want to kiss her, so you do just that.

You two lie there making out for long, hot moments, longer than you think because before you know it, there's someone knocking at your front door and Brittany's mumbling "pizza" against your mouth before rolling you over and pressing a final kiss against your lips. She hops off the bed, only stopping to throw on a long t-shirt that barely covers her ass and glides out the room, returning moments later with a pizza box and a smile on her face as she slips back into bed.

After you both begin chewing on your own slices, you notice that she still has the t-shirt on and eye it with a narrowed glare. You must stare at it harder and with more dislike than you intended to because Brittany begins giggling and puts down her slice, her hands traveling down to the hem of her shirt before she whips it off and over her head with one swift motion.

A gasp catches in your throat, and you're really fucking glad you weren't chewing then because you definitely would've just choked. But apparently the way you blush, the way your eyes grow wide as you realize you're staring at her bare chest unabashedly, is enough to make a Brittany — a girl who barely half an hour ago was 'starving' and hasn't eaten more than a slice of pizza — throw back her slice into the box and clamber over to you with a smirk as she fits her hips over yours, digs her knees into the mattress either side of them and kisses you.

And really, after that, you kind of forget about your pizza slice, too, and throw it back into the box as you focus on Brittany's lips against yours as you head into the next round.

/

Later on, when both of you are well and truly exhausted, Brittany curls up against you, her hand gripping at your bicep, her head resting against your shoulder and her nose pressed against the underside of your jaw and she falls asleep.

You're not far behind, but you take a few minutes after she's been taken away into the land of dreams to trace over her face again and think about the inevitable talk that's going to put a hold on all of this — possibly even put an end to it, actually. You don't want it to come. You don't want the pain, the frustration, the explanation, the tears; and even though you totally need to know _why _Brittany left, _why _she didn't contact you and _why _she thought it was okay to just come straight back to you after both of those things, you're almost at the point where you're just ecstatic enough that she's here regardless of everything.

But you guess that it's going to come whatever happens, it's unavoidable and you have to admit, you kind of want it to happen because you want some stability and certainty with Brittany in your life now.

Though right now isn't the time to think or talk about it; so you just settle down, curve your arm around Brittany's back and shoulders and pull her closer to you until the sleep takes over.

/

The feeling's different when you wake up in the morning.

You can't explain it, but you just feel this deep dread curdling in the pit of your stomach. It's uncomfortable, in weight and feeling, and you manage to worm your way out from underneath Brittany, taking advantage of her heavy sleeping as you slip out of bed. You grab a pair of sweatpants and a baggy shirt from your drawer and slip them on, creeping outside the room and into the kitchen just so you can take a few moments to yourself to breathe and get back some of your bearings.

So maybe sleeping with her before talking things over wasn't the best idea.

Maybe not bothering with a hello and instead kissing her senseless and screwing her on top of the table in your living room merely five minutes after _not _seeing her for an entire year wasn't the best idea.

But it seemed like it at the time and now you're sitting here, on a stool surrounding your kitchen island with your head in your hands and you don't know what to do.

All of that sex (in spite of being fucking _incredible_) has just made everything a million more times complicated. Because you want to make Brittany yours, you want to tell her every single day how fucking madly in love you are with her, but at the same time, there's a wall—albeit, more _remains _of a wall now than the sturdy wall you had before—around your heart and it's trying to protect you.

Because you just can't let it go that easily; you can't let her _in _that easily.

For you, having anyone even within touching distance of that wall is a big deal, a _massive _deal, in fact, and Brittany came and barged straight through it without even a warning. She came in and turned your life upside down, even though she'd been there for a few years before. She was _that _person; the one you'd been staring at but never really seen, the one you needed but never wanted, the one you'd always considered but never chosen. She was everything you never knew you wanted, everything you loved and trusted, and even she managed to break you.

You know it wasn't intentional, and you know if she could take it back she would, but it doesn't change the fact that it still happened. She still left. If she hadn't wanted to go, she wouldn't have, and hell, even further past that, she never even freaking contacted you. She didn't even drop a rogue text, or make a monthly phone call. She didn't even send you a fucking _postcard, _or even get one of those weird British carrier pigeons to fly overseas with a letter.

She didn't do anything, and there's a part of you that can't forgive her for that.

She just left you drowning, with no hopes of a rescue.

"You still haven't left."

You don't jump at the sound of Brittany's voice, but it does break you from your thoughts. You don't turn your head, but instead let your hands drop to the table and trace circles over the speckles visible in the marble counter top. "I don't think I could leave if I wanted to," you sigh, the memories of the exact same words coming back from yesterday.

There's a drag of silence between you, one where you focus intently on the sound of Brittany breathing as she stands in the doorway behind you, but you still don't look at her.

"I was scared," she suddenly says and you can tell by the tone of her voice that this is about to get serious.

You take in a deep breath, trying to prepare yourself, but something tells you you're never going to be prepared enough for this conversation. "About what?" You whisper.

"That you hated me," she answers and you feel the air warm around you as she comes to your side. "I was scared when I came back you wouldn't talk to me, that you wouldn't even look me in the eye," she swallows and her voice lowers. "I was scared you didn't love me anymore."

You do turn at that, your head snapping around sharply and eyes narrowing in disbelief. "I'll always love you," you counter with complete clarity and Brittany's eyes dart up to meet yours, shock and affection lingering behind them. It almost makes you forget what you were going to say, she tends to have that effect on you, so you purposefully glance away and clear your throat, your eyebrows knitting together as your vision remains locked onto the counter top. "Why did you think I'd hate you?"

Brittany takes a long moment in answering, chewing on her lip and thumbing the hem of her shirt nervously. It's the same one from last night, the one that's long but barely covers her ass and you desperately try to shut out the images that come back to you of how you admired her ass as it skipped out the room to collect the pizza from delivery guy but it fails.

Shit.

Now you're getting turned on again and you really don't need to feel like _this, _have her looking like _that, _when you're about to have an incredibly serious conversation that potentially carves your future for you.

"Because I didn't even tell you I'd considered going on the internship."

It's not _not _what you were expecting, it's only half, but you guess it's better than nothing so you don't mention the whole 'no contact' thing just yet. You know there's plenty of time to talk, or rather argue, about that.

"You didn't," you confirm, bobbing your head as you pick at your nails, still not wanting to look at her.

All you can think about now is the first thought that ran through your mind when you first found out. You were so hurt. You were so upset. You didn't know whether you wanted to cry or scream when she announced in front of the rest of your friends—which made it a hundred times worse, by the way—that she was moving to London. In fact, now you think about it, you think despite wanting her to be happy, you sort of disliked her for withholding something that big. You should've known from the moment she'd gone to her professor and put herself up for it the internship that there was a possibility she could've been moving to London.

But you know why she didn't tell you.

"You didn't tell me," you start again, keeping your voice equally as low as before. "But..." You let out a short, mirthless chuckle as the next words pass through your mind. "I could never hate you, Britt," you shrug and your eyes slide to the right as Brittany slides onto the stool next to you, scooting close so her kneecaps touch your thigh. "I knew why you did it."

"You do?"

"You were trying to protect my feelings," you wet your lips, trying not to let the words get to you even though it feels like they're eating you up inside. The memory of her leaving is still fresh, it still hurts, just as much as it did the day you watched that taxi drive away. "You didn't want to hurt me," you add through a whisper, wincing a little because yeah, she didn't want to hurt you, she never _meant _to hurt you, but she did.

Brittany's hand slowly creeps across the counter top, and you watch it come toward your own hand but you don't think you're ready for that kind of contact just yet. Which is ridiculous considering last night, or rather the early hours of this morning, you were grabbing her hand and pushing it beside her head as you pumped your hips slowly into hers. But you still flinch a little, edge your hand away and she gets it, immediately retracting hers and letting her eyes fall down with disappointment and rejection.

"It wasn't just that,"she mutters and your eyes flash to her.

"It wasn't?"

Brittany sighs a, "no" and lets her arms drop into her lap, her legs pressing together as she plays with the hem of her shirt again. You hate the way she looks so small because you just want to wrap your arms around her and tell her you forgive her.

"I mean, that was some of it," she starts again and inhales deeply, a doleful look upon her face. "But it was also because..." Her eyes meet yours and you resist the urge to stroke your fingertips over the lines forming on her forehead. "If I'd told you when I first applied, back when we first started... doing whatever... I was scared you'd want to stop," she shrugs. "I was scared you'd freak out, knowing that I might be leaving sometime in the near future, and stop wanting to... _be _with me?" She quirks her tone, almost asking you if that's the right thing to say because even now, after all those months, you still can't exactly explain what you two were doing since it certainly wasn't just sex, but it wasn't just feelings either. "Because you wouldn't have wanted it to make it any harder than it would've been."

Definitely not expecting any of that, it feels like the information smacks you in the face, but you quickly recover and shake your head at her. She's not stupid, she's far from it, but sometimes she can be ridiculous.

"Britt..." You sigh, scrunching your brow and twisting your body until your knee is wedged between hers and your hands are reaching for hers to hold between you two. "I wouldn't have freaked out," you tell her and she just stares at you. "Somewhere inside of me I knew, even back then, that I wanted to be with you. I mean... I don't think I was letting myself accept it just yet, but had you said something, it might have triggered something inside of me. It might have flicked that switch that made me realize sooner how in love with you I was and I would've made the best of us, regardless of time together." You squeeze her hands and gaze deeply into her eyes, trying to get your point across with more than just your words. "I probably would've even asked you to be mine back then."

She tilts her head to the side and pinches her lips up at the side, though there's a playful shine to her eyes. "San, you know you would've freaked out."

And okay, maybe that's true.

You roll your eyes and let a small smile grace your lips. "Okay, maybe I would've a little," you admit and lift your hand, closing in your pointer finger and thumb together but leaving a tiny gap between it. Brittany raises her eyebrows and laughs a little, so you drop your hand back to hers and flip it, sliding your fingers through hers. "But I still would've asked you to be with me because I was in love with you. Even then." You lift a shoulder and drop it. "You should've told me."

Brittany lowers her eyes again, her chin ducking to her chest and you rub your thumb over the back of her hand, trying to comfort her. "I know," she pouts and looks up at you through her lashes. "I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am."

You shake your head without really thinking about it. "You don't have to apologize, Britt. What's done is done," you state because it's true. You can't change the past anymore than she can. "And I think we just need a little time to sort out our heads before we talk about anything... more."

Her head snaps up so fast you think her head might momentarily suspend from her head, but then you're focused on how comically wide her eyes are and you find your face twisting in confusion. What did you say?

"But you said..." She trails off, her eyebrows pushing together in the middle of her forehead as her vision drifts off. "You said you wanted to be with me," she continues, swallowing audibly and nervously meeting your gaze.

"I know, Britt. I did, but—"

Brittany's entire face drops, the blood draining from her face and eyes glossing at the use of past tense in your tone. You squeeze her hand, lean forward a little more and duck your head, meeting her eye because no, you didn't mean to use the past tense in a way that meant it couldn't be the present, or even the future; you just were referring to an earlier time.

"Britt, hear me out," you tell her calmly. Her expression doesn't change, but she nods slowly anyway, her body rigid and tense. "I love you," you say like it isn't a big deal. Like you didn't spend weeks upon weeks fretting about telling her and missing your chances. Like you didn't then spend months of hating yourself for not saying it before she left. "I can't even put into words how I feel about you because no words could do it justice..." Brittany smiles a small smile, her blue eyes sparkling a little. "But we can't just jump into a relationship."

The brightness behind her eyes fades swiftly, and you kind of feel like a bitch for saying it like that but it's the truth. You don't trust yourself to jump into a relationship right now. You don't trust _her _enough to jump into a relationship right now, which even pains you to think, but after the year you just had, you can't feel too bad. It's the truth after all, and you've been told many times that the truth hurts.

"But w–why?" Brittany stammers, her eyes squinting and nose scrunching up in the most adorable way. "I mean... I know you're scared but we were pretty much were a couple."

The response seems to simple. "And you still left," you say, like it's the most obvious answer in the world.

Though apparently it's not because Brittany's head jerks back, obviously not expecting that and you watch the hurt flash behind her eyes. Guilt sets in, uncomfortable and unfortunately, familiar, in the pit of your stomach and you close your eyes because yes, okay, that reply pretty much did sum up your fears and hesitations in one sentence, but you didn't have to say it like that. You didn't have to be so damn blunt with her.

You shake your head and suck in your lips, inwardly cursing yourself as you pinch the bridge of your nose. You such an idiot.

"Sorry," you whisper and exhale loudly, dropping your hand and finding her free one once more. "I just—Britt," you clear your throat and start again, staring deeply into her eyes. "I think we need time to think. About us. Because... you know what I'm like," you let out through a bitter chuckle. "I don't trust people easily. I don't let people in easily, and you leaving..." You wet your lips and ignore the sudden pain slicing through your chest at the reminder. "It killed me. Not having you here killed me," you shrug and chew your bottom lip nervously. "And there's still so much to talk about, a lot of things that have gone unsaid, but first... I—I think I need a little space to process that you're back. Before we discuss anything happening between us."

It doesn't really make sense, and you know that but Brittany's always had a way of understanding you and she nods. It's not what you wanted to happen because in a perfect world, you would've been able to forgive and forget and the story would end here, with you and Brittany living happily ever after.

But real life isn't like that. You can't just forget pain, forget that Brittany left and forget that she didn't call; and okay, you know you're to blame, too — you let her go without telling her about your feelings and you didn't contact her either — but she's literally just confirmed your reasons to be so hesitant. She fully acknowledged that you two were basically a couple, that you had feelings for her and she had feelings for you, and yet she still moved to London.

And you know that you could get pissed off at that, get hurt by it, but you're just so tired of feeling like that.

You're just so damn tired of denying your feelings, of not having her in your life, of being upset and angry; and you don't want to do it anymore.

"Okay," Brittany finally says, and you furrow your brow because you were kind of expecting something else. Something more, or at least different. "I understand."

Her tone is so gentle and understanding, her face too, and you stare at her incredulously because you don't really know how she can just say that. But then she's squeezing your hands, offering you a half-smile (a genuine one, but a half one, none-the-less) and sliding down off the stool. Your eyes watch her as she walks back through the kitchen doorway and disappears around the corner, and you sit there for about half a minute, wondering how the conversation could've just ended like that, before you're on your feet and following her, finding her in the bedroom.

She's already half-dressed and sticking her arms through her hoodie and you're all kinds of confused right now so you just lean against the door way, feeling that confusion.

"What are you doing?" You ask.

Brittany stays silent and once her hoodie is in place, she heads to the mirror on the dresser and pulls her hair up, snatching one of your hair ties and tying her hair into a messy ponytail, smoothing the top of it out with her palms. You don't do much yourself during this time, just move from the doorway to the bed and perch on the end of it, your eyes locked on her all the time, and wonder why she's getting dressed.

Maybe she was cold.

When she's done, she lets out a long sigh and does a once over at herself in the mirror before turning and coming toward you on the bed. She sits by your side, hands wedged between her clamped knees and you mirror her movement, the disappointment of knowing she didn't want to reach over and hold your hand setting in.

"I'm gonna leave," she finally answers...

And all the blood drains from your face as your expression and jaw drops.

Your heart suddenly picks up and your eyes almost bulge from your head, but you're too focused on how everything goes blurry and how you're beginning to see white spots in front of your eyes at the thought of Brittany leaving you again. It's terrifying, and panic sets in while fear grips your chest and all these mixed emotions make you dizzy and threaten you with the possibility of passing out.

She can't leave. Not now. Not yet. She just got here. You don't want her to leave. You can't—

"Santana," Brittany pulls on your hands but you don't focus on her.

You feel like you're hyperventilating.

Why is she leaving?

You didn't mean to make her leave.

"Santana," she tries again.

You can hear her but you're not listening. Your breaths are short and fast, your chest heaving rapidly and eyes searching the room but not finding anything to lock on to, and it's only when the hands in yours slip away and they're suddenly on your cheeks, forcing your face and vision to hers that you even really come back into the room. But apparently it must not seem like that because one second your eyes are blurring as they slide back to Brittany, and the next warm lips are covering your own and your eyes are fluttering shut, your entire body loosening up and calming down as she kisses you.

Too soon, though, she's pulling away, but your eyes stay closed, your mind now dizzy and your throat producing a humming noise without you really meaning to. You _feel _Brittany smile in the way the air changes around you and after a few seconds, Brittany's nose strokes against the tip of your own, her lips ghosting over yours and really, it doesn't help because you were trying to feel _less _light-headed and now it's started all over again.

"I'm not leaving New York, San," she finally whispers, and you manage to steady yourself enough to open your eyes. You need to see the honesty in them. You need to know she isn't lying. "I'm here to stay now."

"Okay..." You breathe out, actually believing her. You don't have a real reason to, you're just trusting what you see in her eyes. "So—so why are you leaving?" You gulp.

Her thumb strokes across your cheek and she smiles at you. "Because you need time to think," she mutters, her eyes darting between yours. "We both need to sort ourselves out and we both need to adjust to me being back."

You nod, knowing it's true, because so far the only things you two done together have been under the sheets (or actually, over them in three cases and then you on the floor with her half-off the bed in two of them — but that's totally not the point) and so you two need to spend some time apart, gather your thoughts, so next time you two meet, you might be able to talk instead of jumping straight into bed.

(Not that it wasn't amazing because, _fuck yeah _it was, but it's probably not what you should be doing as it's not productive nor progressive for yours and her relationship.)

Still, that doesn't mean you want her to go. You want her to stay, here with you, and you want to forget about everything complicated and just be with her.

"I don't want you to leave," you mumble, eyes dropping to her hoodie where your hands are gripping at the hem, tugging gently.

She giggles lightly and your heart damn near jumps from your chest. _God, _you've missed that laugh.

"I don't want to go either," she tells you, stroking a finger beneath your chin to urge your gaze back up. "But that's never stopped it happening before."

You don't miss the double meaning and let out a short, mirthless chuckle through your nose. "Okay," you say, your tone clearly showing the sadness you feel.

The hands on your face slip away and you find yourself watch Brittany as she stands and moves in front of you. You part your knees and slide your hands around to the back of her thighs, pulling her between your legs as you tilt your head back to look at her, and she moves her hands up to your hair, combing through it gently with her fingers as she stares down at you, lingering longer than necessary. A smile creeps across your face, a warmth pools inside your chest and you find yourself smiling sadly even though you didn't mean to, and find her doing the same.

"I'll see you soon, okay?" She whispers and you nod but don't let go of her thighs, instead choosing to stroke up and down the backs of them.

It makes her smile, giggle a little, too, and she bends down at the waist, her hands moving from your hair to your cheeks to tilt your face back as she kisses you softly, her lips shifting and her top one settling between yours as she sucks on your bottom lip. She kisses you in the way you've missed, the way you've craved for because it's not heated and needy—though don't get it wrong, you love those types of kisses, too—it's gentle, soft, loving and you feel her lips stretch into a small smile beneath your own as the grip on your face tightens.

Her nose nudges against your cheek as she pulls back for a breather and kisses you again, and the smile playing at Brittany's lips fades as your hands move to slide into the front pocket of her hoodie, tugging her further down until she's bracing herself either side of your hips on the mattress. You don't even know you're trying to lie down, or trying to pull her on top of you, until she's backing away to the other side of the room and you're left on the bed alone, missing her warmth as you're propped up on your elbows, looking at her as she breathes hard through swollen lips and stares at you through dark, hooded eyes.

"Sorry," you swallow thickly, sitting up and realizing that there's now a slight tent in your sweatpants.

Shit. You didn't mean to do that. You didn't mean for your mind to go there and for your body to help the process.

(Though you certainly don't regret it. It might not be a great idea, but it definitely would be _amazing._)

"Never apologize for doing that," she responds through a breathy chuckle. "But we probably shouldn't do..." her eyes flicker to the bed again. "_That _again, until we've talked."

"Yeah," you agree, bobbing your head. "No, that's a good idea."

Brittany sucks her lips into her mouth and stares at you, and you can feel the atmosphere changing in the air because even though you both spend an entire day, and a bit more, making love, you both still want and need each other more. You still crave her touch, you still crave the feeling of moving inside of her as she stares down at you with nothing but adoration, love and affection, and you know she craves, needs _and _wants the same.

But she has a point. You two really shouldn't be sleeping together when you haven't worked anything out.

If you did, you'd basically be going back to step one, back to when you were convinced you two were just friends with benefits, and you need to be moving _forward, _not backward.

So no sex. It's good—_incredible, _actually—but sex won't solve all the issues still standing between you two. Or rather, it won't solve _all _of them.

(Damn it.)

"I should go." Brittany's voice suddenly cuts through your thoughts. You snap your head up, bite down on your bottom lip and nod reluctantly.

"I'll walk you to the door," you suggest and she offers you a smile before you get up and move toward her, grabbing her hand and threading your fingers together.

You both move through your apartment and when you get there, you open the front door with your free hand and rest back against it, staring at her. She tilts her head to the side, her eyes roaming over your face and you know there's nothing inside of either of you that want to part, not after twelve months of not being together, but you suppose it's best that she goes. You've got a lot to think about; you've got a lot to consider, and there's no way you can do it with her here.

"So, I'll see you soon?"

You hate the desperation, the need and the hope that shows in your tone, but when the corners of her lips curve up, her eyes bright and glossy, you think that maybe it's not so bad. Not if it makes her look at you like that.

"Definitely," she confirms and doesn't even blink or hesitate as she moves forward, bumping her nose against yours before she kisses you. Your hands drop from hers, and hers go to your neck, thumbs circling over your pulse points while yours shoot to her hips, sliding around to her lower back to pull her against you, and you groan at the feeling as warmth shoots through you. It takes you a few seconds to kiss back, because you're still not used to the new oldness of her kissing you again, but then you're swiping your tongue along her bottom lip and she's parting hers, allowing you to push your tongue into her mouth and flick against her own.

It doesn't last for long, mostly because you can't handle it lasting for long, but it doesn't mean when she pulls away, you're not breathless and light-headed. Kissing her always does that to you.

She rests her forehead against yours, her thumbs still moving across your skin and you squeeze her hips after bringing your hands back, just basking in the feel of her breathing against you, her pressed against you, her invading all your senses and making you feel whole again. Too soon, she's completely pulling back and giving you a smile, her hand sliding down from your neck to grab at yours, tugging them away from her body. She squeezes them, her eyes smiling instead of her lips and your stomach does this weird flip-flop thing as she says goodbye and kisses you one last time before moving down the hallway.

Though as you watch her, as you look down at your palm, feeling the tingle from where her hand used to be, you feel something bubble inside of you and you can't even stop it as it just pours from your mouth.

"I love you."

Brittany freeze, her finger reaching for the button on the elevator and you gulp, tasting how right the words feel on your tongue. Her eyes slide to you, and for a split second you panic, but then Brittany's expression is brightening up like a light bulb and she's jogging back down the hallway and leaping into your arms. Your hands catch her thighs as her legs wrap around you, and you stumble back, grunting at the sudden weight but barely have time to catch yourself before her mouth is descending down upon yours, her tongue pushing through your lips into your mouth and her hands tangling through your hair.

You kiss her for long, hot moments, tongues stroking in each others mouths and hands gripping each others bodies like you never want to let go. But you know you have to, and after an inordinate amount of time, the kiss slows, turning from open-mouthed ones to small pecks, and you gently release Brittany, letting her stand on her feet until her hands are at your cheeks, yours at her waist, and you're both pressing small kisses against each others mouths.

"I love you, too," she finally whispers against your mouth, her voice hoarse and breath hot against your lips.

You gulp and smile, like _really _smile, and after a few more soft kisses, you manage to let her go and once again watch her as she walks back down the hallway and disappears into the elevator.

/

**Per request of a few readers, I've created a Twitter account. I'm not quite sure what I'll be putting on there, mostly answering questions, or reading comments, or putting out tweets about update times etc. but yeah, I made one and so if you'd like to follow it... it's J_S_B_G :)**

**Thank you so much guys, hope you've enjoyed and see you soon!**


	20. Chapter 19

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Nineteen]  
**Rating: **NC-17  
**Length: **8.6k

**Notes: **Apologies for the wait, and thank you for your reviews. You guys are awesome! Also, I haven't even read over this so apologies for the mistakes.

/

Will texts you to tell you your weekly rota is in about an hour after Brittany leaves, and so reluctantly, you drag yourself out of bed, away from the smell of Brittany and the memories of the past twenty-four hours, and get your ass into the shower.

You wash away the feel of Brittany's lips and hands on your skin, hating yourself for doing so. If it were your choice, if it were socially acceptable to go out stinking of sweaty, passionate sex then you totally would; though you don't think the world would take too kindly to that.

When you finish showering, you climb out and dress yourself, letting your hair air dry as you head on out and leave your building. The sun seems brighter when you get outside, and you find yourself smiling at bright blue sky above you.

There's a big batch of clouds looming over to the far right of the sky, but you just chuckle because you swear the weather is reflecting your life right now. It's like a cosmic approval because the sun is back, but there's still those few patches that are gloomy and uncertainty that you just need to go away so everything can just be clear, and _okay _for once.

Anyway, the walk to your work is quick and there's a chill in the air but you barely even notice. You open the door to the coffee store and step inside, shaking your head and unzipping your jacket, pulling open the lapels to free your neck because apparently Will doesn't care about heating bills since it's boiling hot in here.

Though as you're doing it, you pause, the breath catching in your throat because you feel a pair of familiar eyes burning into your head and glance up, finding Brittany standing there, by the counter, a wary half-smile on her face. Your heart immediately thumps loudly against your chest, the unaccustomed effect of seeping into your veins, and you stare at her for a long moment, the indecision of how to greet her suddenly greeting you.

On one hand, you want to run up to her, hug her and kiss her in greeting, but on the other hand, you know there's still things you need to discuss, things you haven't figured out yet, and there are boundaries which means you can't do that.

So you settle for something more PG, and push away the conflict and clear your throat, shoving your hands into your pockets and head on on over to her.

"Hey," you say, your leg jigging about nervously. Damn. You gotta stop that.

She smiles at you, fully this time. "Hey, San."

"What are you doing here?"

She turns her head, looking over the counter toward the back room. "Waiting to talk to Will," she replies and glances back at you. "I was going to ask to come back to work."

Your heart stutters a little at the news. First she's back in your life in general, and now she's invading all the spots that made you weep and ache when she first left. It's so different, and now you're understanding a little more why she left earlier; her coming back is going to be a lot to take in—_hell, _it already is—and you need a little time to yourself to just figure out how to adjust to that.

"You're coming back to work?" You ask, blinking in surprise.

She bites her lip, suddenly seeming nervous as her hands move to the zipper on her jacket, running it up and down. "Is that okay?"

You jolt a little at the question, unsure of why she's asking, and you almost to go ask just that but then it hits you that she doesn't know whether you would want her to come back. You can tell that she's nervous about being back around you so much, and you're a little hesitant yourself but you wouldn't change her being back for anything. You wouldn't want it any other way because she's back in your life and that's all that really matters. That's all you've wanted for the past year.

"Of course it's okay," you say, shrugging your shoulders because you don't know how it could never not be. "You don't have to ask me, Britt."

Despite your words, she still seems hesitant. "I didn't know," she murmurs and ducks her chin to her chest, eyes focusing on her hands still working her zipper. "I just..." She shrugs and picks her head up, eyes finding yours, the nerves visible through them. "I didn't know if you'd want me around."

The response comes so easily, so simply. "I always want you around," you say, and her face stretches into a wide smile immediately, though it reminds you of how she left this morning and suddenly you're not so confident about your words. "Which, erm... which is why I just wanted to say," you take a step forward, a little closer and damn, you probably shouldn't have done that. From here you can see all the shades of blues in her eyes and the light dusting of freckles across her face, and you're presented with the almost overwhelming urge to kiss her. "I really didn't want you to leave earlier," you somehow manage to croak out.

Brittany chuckles lightly, her head tilting back down bashfully and you feel your cheeks warm a little. "I know, I didn't either," she says, moving back to look at you. "But I had to get back to Quinn's to pick up Beth and drop her at school, anyway."

"Quinn's?" You question, your voice going higher. Why is she going to Quinn's?

"Well, yeah," she nods and lifts her shoulder, saying _duh _without vocalizing it. "I mean... I don't have an apartment, so I'm staying with Quinn for now."

You don't know why it surprises you, or why it kind of hurts, too, but you feel blindsided by it and shake your head, blinking rapidly at her like it'll clear your shock. You stare at her, jaw slack and eyes wide, and it takes you a few moments to gather your thoughts again, to kick-start your brain again, but then you consider her situation and really, it's not that surprising she's staying with Quinn. You suppose her contract was cut off when she suddenly up and left for London, and her super probably wasn't best pleased with that so he may not have given her the apartment back.

Still, you think you're bothered because she didn't ask you. She didn't have her bags when she turned up at your apartment only hours after landing in New York, so she must have already sorted out her living arrangements with Quinn, and you know she must have been hesitant about coming to see you without asking you if she could stay, but still... She could've at least asked.

Sure, you've got to consider how awkward it might have been had she turned up and you turned her away, (not that you would've, but still) and that had she asked you to stay, and had you said yes, that it probably would've ended up in a hell of a lot of sex and not a lot of talking.

Although you do suppose that's pretty much happened anyway, so.

"_Brittany! You can come up now!"_

You're broken from your thoughts at the sound of Will's voice booming through the weird speaker thing behind the counter, and you glance back at Brittany, realizing that she has to go. She just offers you a shrug and a smile and then turns away, disappearing into the back room and up to Will's office through the stairs. Your eyes follow her until she's completely out of sight, but even then you just stare at the spot she was last at, wondering what you should've said.

/

A pale hand in comes into view, delicate fingers clicking in front of you and you snap your head around, scowl firmed fixed on your face and tongue ready to lash out, but you only come up with Quinn. She's eying you, a knowing smirk tugging at the side of her lip and her perfectly shaped brow is lifted like she wants to know all the gossip between you and Brittany.

You roll your eyes immediately and shake your head as you walk around to join her behind the counters and duck underneath one of them to grab the folder with everyone's rotas in them. You heave it onto a space—that thing's fucking heavy—and decide to flip through it as you pointedly ignore the set of hazel eyes locked onto your profile and the glare being sent your way. And you almost manage to grab your rota and get out of there without explaining anything, or rather not explaining anything as you don't have a freaking clue what's going on yourself, but before you can, Quinn's pinching the back of your bicep and you're letting out a yelp and smacking her hand.

"What the fu—_hell!?_" You scream, whipping your head around and shooting daggers at her as you rub the sore spot on your arm. "That freaking _hurt,_" you hiss.

Your friend just continues to stare at you though, not buying your dramatic reaction and folds her arms over her chest with an _I'm waiting _look on her face.

"What, Fabray?" You ask, lifting both eyebrows. "What do you want?"

Quinn moves closer and lifts one side of her lip with disbelief. "Are you serious?" You just look at her. "I want to know what happened!"

You knew that was what she wanted to know, but you didn't just give out the information freely because you didn't want to. You still don't, actually, but you know Quinn's only going to bug you until you tell her something. She's really fucking persistent and annoying like that. Sometimes you do wonder whether she's been hanging out with Rachel Berry for too long; they could be a perfect match in some other world with their irritating ways.

"It's not really any of your business, you know," you point out and turn your attention back to the folder, sliding out your copy of the rota from the plastic cover and folding it in half, tucking it into the inside pocket of your jacket.

"Like that's ever stopped you telling me before," Quinn fires back, cocking her hip out against the counter. "So, dish the dirt."

You narrow your eyes at her. "This is my life, Q; not a damn TV show."

"Well it's got enough drama for it to be," she counters and lifts both eyebrows again. "But seriously, what happened?"

You take in a deep breath, your mind rewinding back to the events of the past thirty-six hours and warmth pools low in your stomach, though you make sure to cut it off before you start thinking about the memories in detail because otherwise you'll get turned on standing _here_ and that's really not okay.

"Apparently someone dropped her off at my apartment at God knows what time in the morning," you start, trying to make a subtle jibe at your friend but she shows no reaction. "And obviously when I opened the door and was kind of shocked, but then we just..." Your words trail off, heat rushing to your face and your glance away, trying to hide it, but you know you can rarely ever hide anything from Quinn, especially when she's right in front of you, so it's not a surprise when she clicks the pieces of the puzzle together and gasps, her hand clutching at her chest dramatically. You roll your eyes again and say, "And you think _I'm _dramatic," you mumble beneath your breath, turning away.

Her hand snaps at, grabbing a bunch of your jacket and halting you from moving any further. "Did you two sleep together?" She hisses through a whisper and you yank her hand off your arm.

"Bitch, that hurt," you snap and readjust your jacket, trying to play it cool, even though you know you're totally _not. _"And I'm not gonna tell you that."

"So that's a yes," Quinn responds absently but then shakes her head, attention back on you. "So what does that mean for you now? Are you back together?"

You let out a short, bitter chuckle, your hand moving to the edge of the folder. "You can't get back together when you weren't together in the first place," you comment.

Your friends face drops and sadness sets in between you, but you clear your throat to try to put a distraction between you.

"But if you slept together," Quinn starts, softly, lowering her head to your level. "Then it can only mean good things, right?"

You stop picking at the plastic slips and sigh, lifting both your shoulders and dropping them in a heavy shrug.

Quinn just sucks her lips into her mouth, her eyes saying the _sorry _that you don't want to hear out loud, and you just shake your head and offer a not-really-there smile in return.

Because you don't know if sleeping with Brittany means things are going to be alright. It could go either way at this point.

/

For some reason you decide to stick around longer than necessary.

Fifteen minutes after Quinn decided to switch the conversation from you and Brittany to the weirdo in the corner with a yellow hat and a feather sticking out the top of it, Brittany comes bouncing out the back room with a smile on her face and your heart skips a beat. You're still not used to seeing her back.

"Hey guys," she chirps, all smiles and happiness.

It's actually so infectious you find yourself smiling, too. "Hey, Britt," you greet and Quinn repeats your words before you're all left standing there, staring at each other.

"I really need to be getting back to work," Quinn idly comments, and you look to her curiously because for the last twenty minutes she hasn't really cared about 'getting back to work' so you think there's something behind her words. And it turns out, there is. "Maybe you two should go and get a coffee or something."

You feel something spike beneath your skin and send her a dangerous glare, but she just grins sweetly and skips off back behind the counter. Then you're left with Brittany and you feel a little awkward, even though that's ridiculous considering the past thirty-six hours and that you were talking to her before she went upstairs, but you can't help it. Something about Quinn suggesting you and Brittany get coffee makes you feel like you're being forced to talk about things when you're not ready to.

Still, you find yourself walking out the coffee store with Brittany by your side, and she gives you a shy smile, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear when you hold the door open for her and let her walk through. Then you follow her and you're stuck in a little awkward silence as you two move down the street, elbows bumping with every other step.

"So," she finally speaks up, bouncing a little. You recognize it as an uncomfortable gesture and glance away. "Do you wanna go get that coffee?"

She turns her head to look at you after the question, but you don't look back, just keep your eyes on the sidewalk in front of you and your hands in your pockets.

"I don't know, Britt," you say, a little hesitantly, lifting a shoulder. You don't want to reject her but at the same time getting a coffee is kind of like getting a date and you're definitely not ready for that. Not until you've talked and got through all the complicated shit. "I don't really think we're um—we're ready for a... a date," you swallow against a thickening throat.

Unexpectedly, Brittany lets out a small chuckle and stops, smiling at you as she shakes her head. You stop too, twisting around to face her.

"What?" You ask, pretty confused, your eyes darting around the street to see if there's a baby monkey riding pig or something equally as funny.

(That YouTube video made her giggle like this.)

She shakes her head again but there's a smile on her face as she looks at you. "It's not a date, Santana," she says and looks at you. "It's just coffee."

And you ponder over it, wondering whether you should go for coffee or just tell her you want to go home, but then you reason that really, it's just coffee, and nothing can happen if you're just getting coffee. It's simple, and easy, and you might even be able to get a conversation going about whatever is going on between you two. Nothing bad can come from it.

So you shrug and exhale loudly. "What the hell," you say and playfully roll your eyes, earning a smile. "A coffee can't hurt, right?"

Brittany grins wider and bobs her head. "Totally."

/

You stumble backwards into your apartment, your lips pressed against Brittany's and her hands on the shoulders of your jacket, already pulling it down your arms.

You push your tongue into her mouth, grunting when your jacket gets stuck and reluctantly, you pull away from her mouth for a second as you manage to shuck it off from your wrists and throw it somewhere in your apartment. Distantly, you hear her shut the front door, but then there's hands on your neck and Brittany's smirking down at you a second before she's kissing you hard, her tongue sliding along the seam of your lips and dipping into your mouth, making you groan and you can't really think about anything else apart from this.

Your hands clutch at her hips, and you're all kinds of light-headed as she walks you back to the sofa and tips you over the arm, causing you to land on it with a cushioned thump. And there's a little voice in the back of your mind telling you that this really isn't a good idea, but when she's throwing a leg either side of your hips, pressing down in a way that she knows drives you crazy and is ducking her head to suck on your pulse point, suddenly it doesn't really seem like such a bad thing.

Plus you're not completely thinking with your brain at the minute and so you just go with it, tilting your head to the side and letting your fingertips stroke up her thighs to her hips, then dip beneath the hem of her shirt to stroke over hot skin. She shudders beneath your touch, grinding down in the least innocent way possible and you groan, pushing up with your hips because your skin's flaring up, there's a growing bulge in your boxers and you just have this innate need to touch her, to make her feel good and to be inside her.

And you try to fight the thoughts stabbing at your mind about how you two shouldn't go going down this road again, but now that you're thinking about that little voice, it's growing and growing, getting louder until it's covering the sound of your pulse screaming in your ears and you just can't ignore it anymore.

Fuck it. Stupid fucking brain.

"Wait," you manage to get out, your hands moving to her shoulders to push her back. "Wait, Britt—"

You whimper as her lips and tongue come away from your neck and she sits up on your hips, her head cocked to the side, her hair tousled, eyes dark and lips swollen and shit, she looks _so _hot right now, you really don't want to stop her. But you know she should. You know you two shouldn't do this. Not if you haven't talked yet. You don't want to go down that road again and sleeping with her straight after she came back and then asking her for some space was a huge _douchebag _move anyway, so sleeping with her and then pushing her further away just isn't acceptable.

_God, _how do you have the strength to stop this?

"What?" She breathes out, her chest heaving up and down as her hands rest on your covered boobs.

You gulp and look down at them, wanting nothing more than to say _screw it _and bring her back down, kiss her and slide her hands beneath your shirt to _really _let her feel your boobs, but you know you need to stop it. You need to stop having sex and not talking about feelings because this is how you first started out and you don't want to go back to that place. You don't want to being in a state of confusion and you don't want to be lost — you want to know where you stand and where this is heading.

You're just so tired of not knowing... anything.

"We shouldn't do this," you croak out, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Brittany's face scrunches up, her head tilting even further like she doesn't get why but after a few seconds of her eyes roaming over your face, she must realize because she moves her head back to a natural position and nods sheepishly. "Yeah," she breathes out and you can tell she doesn't really want to stop but hell, you don't either. "I guess we should probably... talk before..."

She trails off but you know what she means, so you bob your head and when it goes quiet, you realize that her hands are still on your boobs and you look at her. "Erm, Britt?" She looks at you, eyebrows raised. "Your, erm... your hands," you mutter and let your eyes flicker down.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," she apologizes and snaps her hands back before climbing off you.

You swing your legs down and she takes a seat beside you, her hands landing in her lap, fingers twiddling nervously. "It's fine, B," you say and when she doesn't stop fiddling with her fingers, you reach over and grab her hands. "I just think that... you know... maybe we shouldn't do _that. _Not until we've... sorted things out."

She bites down on her bottom lip and glances at you, her body language telling you she's scared and feels small. You kind of hate that.

"When," she stops and wets her lips. "When do you wanna sort things out?"

Your stomach flutters at the question, but you know you can't run from 'the talk' for too long; and hell, you don't _want _to run from it anymore. But it just makes you feel uneasy. It makes you feel nervous, and scared because as long as you aren't addressing the problems, they almost seem as if they don't exist. They just stay lingering in the background, away from your conscious mind; but the second you talk about them, they become to real and it leads you to make decisions about your future.

Because this talk can only end in two possibilities: the first being that you have Brittany, that_ finally _you'll wind up with Brittany and hopefully live happily ever after, or the second is that you'll end up alone, broken and bitter, whining over losing the love of your life.

The second doesn't really seem that appealing.

But you have to consider that having this talk might lead you into a relationship with the most amazing woman in the world. It might lead to you having everything you've ever wanted, to you finally having happiness and certainty where there was none before. It might lead you to having _Brittany, _and honestly, just that single thought makes you want to have this conversation more than anything because you want Brittany more than anything.

Which is why you say, "Let's sort it out now."

And Brittany must have the same doubts, the same hesitations, because she stills for a long moment, her eyes darting between yours and hands noticeably shaking in yours before she finally nods and says, "Okay."

/

"So... how'd you wanna start?"

You're a little unsure of how this kind of thing is supposed to go. You've never really had to discuss your feelings with anyone before because they've never been this strong. Shit, you've never been in love before, and you've never had to really think about your words to make sure you don't come out of this situation with a broken heart.

"Um," Brittany wets her lips and shifts in her seat, tucking her leg beneath her and resting her hands on her lap. "I guess, we should clear the air first."

Not what you were expecting, you cock your head to the side, confused.

"Clear the air?" You repeat, feeling a little lost.

"Yeah," she confirms with a nod of her head. "We need to get the anger and resent out before we can move forward."

"I'm not angry or resentful."

Brittany's face falls and disappointment flashes behind her eyes. It makes your stomach sink.

"You can't say that, Santana," she says and looks away quickly. "You can't tell me you weren't pissed and hurt that I left." She glances back at you, her lips sucked into her mouth. "I know you were."

You think back to March, back to when you went from being clinically depressed to irrationally angry at Brittany's departure. You think about how you were angry at everything; how you would lash out at inanimate objects, throw lamps and other items about and scream at yourself in the dead of night because you just couldn't sleep. You remember how you would actually _snarl _at people who gave you funny looks, scare away customers at work and yell at strangers who accidentally brushed past you on the street.

You remember how you even went as far as putting your fist through your bathroom mirror, breaking a knuckle and scarring your skin, and you can't deny that you weren't angry. You were livid.

Still, you don't want Brittany to know that. You were in a bad place, you were hurting, you were scared, you were broken.

You don't want her to know that you have the potential to do that, to become a monster, that you _became _a monster, but you can't lie to her.

So you just admit it.

"Okay," you let out through a breath and raise your eyes to hers. "I was angry," you lift a shoulder. "I was pissed off, I was hurt, I was lonely, and I was broken." You swallow and chew on your lip for a second. "I hated you for what you did to me," you choke out and you see her flinch at you words, but you don't take them back. This is sorting it out. "I hated that you didn't warn me, I hated that you didn't even try and talk to me," you find yourself shaking your head and sucking in your lips, heat prickling at your eyes. "But most of all..." You take in a deep, shaky breath and prepare yourself. "I hated that you could just leave like that. So easily."

Brittany's eyebrows knit together, her face contorts with pain and you hate that you're about to cry. You _hate _that you feel so fucking vulnerable and you don't want to open up like this because the last time you did, it only brought you hurt. But you know if you want to get Brittany, if you want to make her yours, you're going to have to push past it. Getting what you want has never been easy, in any situation, and usually the things you have to fight for are the things that are worth it, that are the best, in the end.

"It wasn't easy, Santana," Brittany finally says and you square your jaw, your lips trembling and eyes dropping.

She reaches over and takes your hand, squeezing it until you're glancing back up at her and when she speaks, her voice is serious and low in a way you're not privy, too. Brittany's usually sunshine, rainbows and smiles, and it's strange to see her like this, but you know that she's only like this when she's one hundred percent serious about something and it makes your heart clench because you know she's serious about _you. _

About making you and her an 'us'.

"You have to believe me," she reinforces and tugs your hand into her lap, squeezing a little harder as her eyes fill with tears. "Santana, the thought of not seeing you everyday made me _not _want to go," she chokes out through a sob, a single tear falling down her cheek. "I didn't want to have to live without you."

"Then why did you go?" You squeak, your brow furrowing. She opens her mouth to answer, her lips move but no words come out and you shake your head from side to side, your eyes falling shut. "Britt, I didn't want to live without you either, and I know that you had to go because it was the best thing to do," you shrug because you already know that, but it still hurts to say. "But you could've called me," your eyes drift to the ceiling as you take in a deep breath, a tear trailing down your cheek. "For an entire year—_a whole year, _Britt—my heart broke _every single day _because you didn't call. You didn't even try to talk to me." Your eyes drift back down to meet blue ones and your voice breaks when you ask, "Wh—Why?"

"Because I—" Brittany gulps and now it's her turn to look away, biting her lip. "I couldn't."

Your eyes narrow, jaw hardening. "Why?"

"I..." Brittany releases one of your hands to wipe at the tears pooling in the corner of her eye. "I thought you hated me," she finally replies, lifting both shoulders.

It's the same thing she said when you were lying in bed together yesterday, but it still doesn't explain it.

"I already told you I didn't hate you," you counter, your voice a whisper. "I hated what you _did _to me, but not you. I couldn't ever hate you, B."

"I know, but," Brittany chokes up, her sentence halting. She squeezes her eyes shut, lowers her head and shakes it, muttering something beneath her own breath. You can't help it when you reach up with one hand and cup her cheek. It's like gravity, and she looks back to you with blood-shot eyes and whimpers. "I left, Santana." She pauses, her lower lip trembling. "I left, went to London for an _entire _year, and I left only _days _after I told you I was going," she says with desperation in her tone, her eyes pleading with you. "I just up and left you and I truly believed you hated me. I never thought you'd want to talk to me again."

You tilt your head to the side, your face screwing up and wetness coating your cheeks. "But that doesn't explain why you didn't even call me, Brittany."

She clutches at your hands like they're a life raft, and her eyes bore into yours. "I tried to," she gets out. "I tried to but I couldn't... because I couldn't handle it if you'd hung up on me," she gulps and you shake your head, trying to tell her without words you would never have done that but then she continues. "I thought you hated me, Santana, so I couldn't call you and run that risk, but... in November..." She takes in a deep breath, her eyes dropping and closing. "In November I just couldn't take it anymore." She gnaws on her bottom lip swallows thickly. "I wanted to talk to you, I wanted to hear your voice... but I didn't want you to reject me," her voice cracks at the end and she winces. "I couldn't handle it, I was a mess already, but I had to get to you somehow. I had to tell you how I felt, I had to tell you how much I missed you and so..." Her eyes meet yours and she sucks in her lips. "I sent something."

Your eyebrows raise but then scrunch together as confusion sets in. You look at her, your head tilted to the side and you're just about ready to argue with her, but then your mind takes you back to November and it hits you.

/

_Sugar's standing on the other side of the door, holding a package in her hand, one covered with brown paper and a thin string tied around the middle._

_"It was left for you," is the first thing she says and you narrow your eyes because you were sure you checked your mailbox two hours ago, but whatever._

_"Oh," you say and take the package from her. "Thanks."_

/

"The package Sugar dropped off," you breathe, your eyes now focused somewhere else in the room and your voice a distant whisper.

You don't even let Brittany respond before you're climbing up from the sofa, leaving Brittany behind and half-sprinting into your bedroom. Your head snaps from side to side as you look around your room for it, but when you come up blank you squeeze your eyes shut, clench your fists and force yourself to think back to what happened to it. The last time you saw it, it was on your bed, but then you ran out and so you must have—

"Knocked it off the bed," you finish your thoughts out loud and drop to your knees, crawling to your bed and flinging an arm out to swipe blindly underneath it.

When your fingertips touch something and cause a crackle of paper, you gasp and snatch it out from beneath the bed, clambering to your feet and heading back out to the living room with it clutched to your chest. Brittany's staring at you when you get back, and you gulp as you walk back to the sofa, gingerly perching on it, her eyes following you the entire way, but you don't open it just yet, instead run your fingertips over the dust-covered paper.

"You didn't open it?" Is the first thing she asks, and your heart stops as you ponder her question.

You end up shaking your head. "No," you answer through an exhale. "I never even gave it a second thought," you admit and poke your tongue out, running it across your lips, your eyes still locked onto the package. You so desperately want to know what's inside it but now you're scared. "I mean... Sugar dropped it off, and I was a bit suspicious but... I didn't—I never would've thought it was from you."

Brittany scoots closer until her thigh is pressed against yours and you're sitting side by side. "Open it," she whispers and you suck in a deep, shaky breath as your fingers reach for the string.

You slowly untie it, unraveling it like you're unraveling a knot inside your chest and you get this sudden fear that what's inside could've possibly changed your past. You don't know what it is, what this package contains, but what if it could've made Brittany come back sooner? What if she'd sent this to Sugar to give to you, hoping that you'd send something back? What if whatever is in here, might have shortened your heartache and brought Brittany back?

Shit. What if you fucked up by not opening it?

"Stop over thinking," Brittany murmurs and her hands wedge between her clamped knees, keeping them from bobbing up and down.

You let out an unamused laugh. "I'm trying," you tell her, trying to stop yourself from shaking but you can't. You're just so damn nervous.

Finally, after too long and too many moments of quivering and wanting to just run away from this, you pinch each side of the brown wrapping and peel it apart. You're not expecting to find what you do inside, and so you furrow your brow, pushing the paper down at the sides and staring down at the item in front of you, your fingers playing with the string tied around the bundle which is—

"A journal?" You ask, your tone increasing in pitch and eyes sliding to your right to the girl beside you.

Brittany sucks in her lips and nods, and you go back to looking at the journal. You slowly untie the string around it, revealing the slightly battered and old journal. Your fingertips map over the front, feeling the smooth-roughness of the suede cover, and trace down the sides to feel the crinkled paper from what you're assuming Brittany has written on.

"I finished my internship ten months after I got to London," she suddenly and your heart stops, twisting and clenching painfully as you realize that she could've come back two months earlier but didn't. "And so I decided to travel the UK because I didn't want to come back."

You physically wince at the information, lifting your shoulder and ducking your head as if it'll stop you from feeling the pain but there's no point; the pain's not physical, after all. So your first instinct after not being able to shield yourself from the pain is to run, to just get out of here because it really fucking hurts to know that she didn't want to come back. She didn't want to see you, she didn't contact you and maybe this is her way of letting you down easily. Maybe she's trying to tell you she found someone else and isn't staying in New York for long.

(Later on, you'll realize how ridiculous you were being considering she'd already told you she was staying and that she loved you.)

(But still, you'll only realize that _later._)

Apparently you must show your sudden burst of fear because a hand cups your cheek and your vision's being shifted until you're staring into deep, blue eyes.

"The only reason I didn't want to come back was because I didn't want to come back to you hating me," Brittany elaborates, pouring understanding into her tone. "I know I didn't know if you did for sure, but suspecting was completely different from knowing." Your face twists in confusion at her words. "I mean..."

She shakes her head, her face etching with frustration and so you act impulsively and grab her hand off your face, sliding your fingers through hers and clutching onto it tightly on top of the journal still on your lap. You know sometimes she has trouble getting out the words she means and so you just hold on, sit still and wait patiently. After all, you want to know what she has to say, too.

"I didn't know if you hated me, or if you didn't want to see me, or talk to me again," she starts again, gulping and looking in your eyes through glossy blue ones. "But _suspecting _all of that was better than _knowing _it." She squints at you. "Do you get what I mean?"

You move your head a little up and down to show that you do, but there's still a little confused part inside of you and she must see it because with her free hand, she rakes through her hair, lets out a quick exhale and starts again.

"If you _had _hated me... and I came back and found that out... I would've died, Santana," she says, squeezing your hand intermittently. "If it had turned out that all my fears were true, that you really didn't want me in your life anymore... then I wouldn't have been able to live with myself. I—It hurt _not _knowing... but at the same time, it was better to just wonder whether you hated me rather than knowing for sure that you did."

This time you get it, and you let out a long breath, but that explanation doesn't cover everything.

"So why did you travel then?" You question, shaking your head to show you're already not understanding. "Why didn't you just come back to the US and stay away from me?"

"I traveled to try to distract myself, Santana... but even doing it there was almost impossible," she explains, her tone croaky and weak. "If I'd come back here, there would've been no way I could've stayed away from you." She shrugs and wets her lips, more tears forming in her eyes. "I tried everything I could, but you were there in my head and I couldn't get you out. I _pushed _myself to manage two months, but even that was _so _hard, Santana. _So _hard," she tugs on your hand to emphasize her words. "But when that two month mark came... I just had to come back. I just couldn't stay away anymore."

Your brow furrows at her words, and you glance down to the journal on your lap and remember how this package was delivered in November. "So why did you stop writing to me?" You lift your head to look her in the eye. "Why send this to me after your internship finished?"

She stays silent for a long moment, and when she speaks, her eyes drop to the sleeve of your shirt where her fingers are playing with it nervously. "Honestly? Because I wasn't sure if I was going to come back at all," she whispers and your heart stops at the thought that you may have never seen her again. "But I had to let you know how I felt about you," she continues and lifts her head to meet your gaze. "I spent ten months writing in this journal at least once a day. Sometimes even twice, or three times on the days where I didn't even want to get out of bed because I missed you so much," she admits with a sheepish half-smile. "I wrote down everything I did," her lip quivers and you get this sudden tightness in your stomach at it. "Everything I felt, and everything I wanted to do but couldn't because you weren't there."

A breathy sigh escapes your lips as you think back to all the times you wished she was there. You almost wish you'd written everything down, like how you felt and what you did, in the time when you were separated from her because you feel like she should know how you felt as you're about to find out with her. But you're too interested, too intrigued, too worried to know what's inside this journal to really think about that.

"And it's all written in here?" You ask, absently tracing your finger over the journal.

Brittany nods, her eyes lowering and your stomach flutters with nerves as you read the expression on her face. You can't pick out what it is completely, but you have a feeling there's something in this journal you're not going to like. _God, _you really don't need any more surprises.

"I'm not gonna find out that you're like, pregnant and engaged or anything am I?" You try to make it a joke by saying the words through a chuckle, but Brittany looks at you with a blank expression, her head shaking.

"I couldn't give myself to someone else like that," she replies, her voice almost flat it's so serious. She lifts a shoulder and strokes her thumb over the back of your hand. "Not when my heart belongs to you."

You swallow thickly against the sudden lump in your throat and feel the tears form in your eyes. You don't know when you stopped crying, but now you're starting all over again and you look at her, affection gripping your chest because she's staring at you with nothing but love and adoration, and combined with those words it just gets too much for you to handle. So much so that you don't even bother trying to fight the urge to kiss her when it strikes you, and you grab the journal, set it down on the couch cushion behind you and then reach for her face, your hands framing her jaw and pulling her forward until your mouth is covering hers.

She gasps against the kiss, not expecting it but you just hold still until she kisses you back, her hands stroking up the side of your thighs to your hips, tugging you a little closer until you're throwing a leg over hers and pressing against her. Her nose nudges your cheek, shifting the kiss until she's sucking in your bottom lip and running her tongue along it, and this time it's your turn to gasp because you're sure your insides just melted into a puddle.

Because it doesn't feel like a kiss that's leading to slow, sweaty sex on the sofa — it feels like a kiss that's leading to a relationship, to something stronger and something you've wanted more than you've ever wanted anything else before.

Honestly, it feels like love.

"_God_, I love you," you pant against her mouth as you pull back for breath, but she doesn't let you say anything more, and doesn't say anything herself before she leans in again and brings your mouths back together, pressing her lips hard against yours and clutching at your neck now, her thumbs stroking circles on your skin.

Though after a few long minutes of kissing and reacquainting yourself with the way Brittany tastes, the way she kisses you and how it feels like you could explode just from her touch, she pulls away and you follow her, hanging your head a little as you pant. She manages to steal your breath just by looking at you, so kissing you is a whole other ball game, and she must know that because she doesn't try to tilt your head up, just presses her lips against your forehead and breathes heavily against your skin, letting your lungs fill with oxygen again.

Except after you manage to do that, after you pick up your head and look at her, craving to kiss her again, she smiles softly and pushes your hands away onto your lap before standing. You watch her with confusion, with the fear that she's going to leave _again, _and you know just by the way she's shifting her weight from one leg to the other that she's actually going to.

"You're leaving?" You squeak.

Her smile somehow softens further. "You need to read the journal," she say, nodding her head toward the book lain forgotten on the sofa. "Then we'll talk more."

You feel your eyebrows push together and the crease between them deepen because you don't know what she means by that. What's inside this journal that she needs you to read? What happened to her in London? What did she do? Oh God. You don't know what this little book contains, what (possibly gruesome) details it may hold, but you're not sure you want to know. What's in the past is in the past...

Though you know she wants you to read it. You can see it in her eyes.

"Stop worrying," she coos, stroking the backs of her fingers over your temple to push back some fallen hair. "I just want you to read it."

You are worrying—you tend to do that a lot—but it's not like her saying you shouldn't will magically correct your mood, yet you nod and she smiles at you and holds out her hands. You take them and let her pull you up, and you stand close, your bodies almost completely pressed together and eyes boring into each other for a few seconds before she bends down to kiss you.

It lasts for about three seconds, but you still feel your heart pound against your rib cage and your breath catch in your throat, and when she pulls away, your keep your eyes close and hum as you suck your lips into your mouth, savoring the feel of her kissing you.

Hands cup your cheeks and you slowly open your eyes to look into hers. "After you've read this, no matter what time, or what day — whenever you're ready," Brittany says softly, her fingertips running over your temple. "Call me and we'll figure us out."

There's so much left to say, so much you want to tell her, but when your eyes flicker to the journal still lying on the couch, you choose to hold everything back. You don't know what her travels to London held, and it's making you feel all kinds of nervous that she wants you to read it. You know it can't be _that _bad because she would've told you, but you still don't know what it is and you've never been a big fan of surprises anyway so this isn't something you're looking forward to.

But you don't say any of that; instead you choose to keep it in and wait because you don't want to ruin something beautiful before it's even begun.

And after leading Brittany to the front door, embracing her goodbye and watching her walk down the hallway and disappearing into the elevator, you turn around, head back to the sofa, take a seat and bring the journal into your lap.

Guess it's time to find out about Brittany's trip to London.

/

**Don't really know how I feel about this chapter, so please leave a comment to say your feelings on it if you have any. Thanks!**

**Like I said, this was completely unbeta'd and I didn't even bother skimming over it as I've had barely three hours sleep and I'm on the brink of passing out so I'll correct any mistakes when I have the time to. So I'm sorry but beddy byes calls!**


	21. Chapter 20

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Twenty]  
**Rating: **NC-17  
**Length: **4k

**Notes: **I know this chapter is literally SO short, but I had to make it short as it didn't really fit in with the rest of what I have planned. Which is only one or two chapters more, so the end is near, my dear readers. Also, only one person picked up on the Friends reference on the last chapter – I'm kind of surprised!

/

The first entry of the journal is brief, but you can already tell by the way she writes that the moment she arrived there, she wanted to come back.

It doesn't say it in words, but as you read over it, you can hear her voice in your head and imagine her face as she was writing it. You can imagine her pained expression and feel the single teardrop in the top right hand corner from where she cried.

_I don't really know why I bought this journal, San. I think I just want to feel like I'm connected to you somehow, even if I'm not sure you'll ever read this._

_But I'm here now. I'm in London, and I'm a bit confused because it's already been two weeks and I still can't understand what anyone's saying. They all sound really posh, and I even asked a guy where I could buy a cup of tea and a scone—that's a British snack food, if you didn't know_—_and they laughed at me and said that I was a stupid yank._

_I don't even know what that is, but I'm pretty sure it's offensive._

_Anyway, I just wanted to tell you about my first few weeks, and I promise to write to you every day._

_I won't break this promise._

_Forever and always,_

_Brittany._

You sit there and laugh through your tears for ten minutes.

/

You spend the rest of the day reading her letters.

You barely even stop, only when nature, hunger or your dry throat calls; but otherwise you spend hours upon hours, reading over her scribbled, messy writing and learning about her life without you.

You sit on the sofa, soaking in her words, feeling her emotions. Your eyes trace over the few pictures stuck messily to the page, placed next to crumpled paper and you become jealous of them even though you can't be because they got to have her.

_They_ got to experience her when you didn't, when you needed her the most, and you come to hate these random villages, cities and towns you see through pictures. You come to hate the stupid red brick buildings you see and the weird black taxis. You come to hate the miles and miles of green fields and the clear blue skies that you're sure you'd love if you were there with her; all because when you yearned for her, when you thought you physically couldn't live without seeing her face or her smile, _they _got to have her. They got her and didn't appreciate her in the way you would've done.

But you still push through all the emotions brought to the forefront of your mind and read on.

/

Among her writing, you find a few undecipherable words and black smudges from where you were assuming she was crying as she wrote about her time.

It makes your heart clench in the most painful of ways, and your eyes fill with tears because you might have been in pain, but you would've rather have been in pain than known she was suffering.

Yet you still find your fingertips tracing over the smudges, over the crinkles in the paper where her tear drops fell and shut your eyes, trying to feel what she did.

You don't, but you still feel pain from knowing she was in pain, too.

/

When you begin crying for the third time, on the third page, you stretch over to reach for the tissue box on the side table and the journal falls off your lap.

You abandon your search for a tissue and reach for it, gasping as if the drop would've broken it and spend a good two minutes checking over it, stroking the suede and eying the floor to make sure nothing fell out. Though when you do, you find a small folded up piece of paper lying on the edge of the rug and gingerly reach for it, bringing it to your lap and pinching the sides, opening it to show what's written inside.

_Sugar, I need you to give this to her. I miss her, I love her, but I can't tell her out loud._

_Please... I just need her to know everything._

_Thank you,_

_Brittany._

It doesn't even have your name written inside, just a vague 'her,' but you know Brittany was talking about you; and as you read it again, you find your mind reeling back to when Sugar came to knock at your door all those months ago.

/

_"Did she..." You swallow the words, finding it hard to complete your sentence. You haven't asked anything about her since she left. "Did she say something?" You manage to get out._

_Sugar looks at you, her head tilting to the side and you watch the crease form between her eyebrows as her eyes narrow into slits. "No," she breathes and you can't figure out whether the sinking you feel in your chest is from disappointment or relief. You suppose the former. "Not out loud," she adds, her eyes dropping to the package in your arms._

/

Your hand clutches at your chest as the memory comes back, and you realize all this time, Sugar knew Brittany loved you.

Your first reaction is anger; why couldn't she have told you? Why couldn't she have just fucking said and then you would've contacted Brittany somehow and told her yourself? Why couldn't she just have even freaking _hinted _something?

Though as the minutes pass, as your infuriated thoughts slowly transform into something a little calmer, you begin to reason with yourself that if she had said anything, or rather when she _did _say something, you didn't believe her anyway. She tried, you remember the '_she would've stayed' _comment and it's only now you realize what Sugar was _really _telling you. You realize she was really telling you by saying that you '_must've known' _that you must have known she loved you, though you were too caught up in your pain to realize that.

But you don't want to dwell on that, to think about how you could've had or talked to Brittany sooner.

So you just continue reading.

/

_I met this guy called Adam at the publishing house. _

_He's gay, so if you ever read this you shouldn't be panicking or grinding your teeth or clenching your jaw in the way you always used to when I mentioned someone else. He's totally moving to New York, San, and I told him he should totally meet Kurt, 'cause I think they would be a cute couple._

_He asked me if I had anyone special back home and I cried for two hours._

_I never told him, like I never told you._

_I'm sorry._

_Yours forever,_

_Brittany._

/

You think you read the seventeenth entry of the journal over eleven times. You actually have it memorized:

_I told Adam about you today, and he told me that I should've told you when I had the chance. He didn't mean in the way it sounds, he wasn't rude so don't hate him, San._

_But I know I should have. I know I should've told you._

_So I'm telling you now._

_I love you, Santana. I love you... so much that words will never be able to do it justice. I love you so much that it actually hurts sometimes... all the time now, actually... but back when we were together, but not together, it was a good kind of hurt. _

_I'd do anything to be together but not together again, because I just want you, in any capacity._

_Please don't hate me. Please still love me._

_My heart is yours,_

_Brittany._

/

When you read some of the entries, you find yourself lying down on your side, curling into a ball with the journal clutched to your chest and you just sob your heart out.

Everything hurts, and your eyes are stinging after the amount of tears you've cried, but the funny thing is, you haven't even read the entire journal yet and you know there are more tears to come.

Still, there are certain ones that just rip the breath straight from your lungs.

Even if they are as short as the forty-second entry:

_I miss you, Santana._

_All my love, always._

_Brittany._

/

By the time you reach the third month of her visit to London, you no longer find any cheery little entries or tiny notes with a brightness and sunshine that you know to be Brittany, because they're all full of pain.

Each sentence you read you can feel her pain, you can imagine her sitting on a bed in a hotel room in the middle of a foreign country, crying her heart out as she writes to you, not knowing when she was ever going to see your face again and even though you were in pain, you find yourself wanting to travel back to that time, to take her pain away and to add it on top of yours just so she didn't have to feel it.

Your fingertips trace over more teardrop stains, and you see your own falling beside them because you can't stand the image of Brittany crying.

You'd do anything to make sure she will never cry another pained tear if that was possible.

But you can't, and for some reason it doesn't even deter you from continuing through the pages and letting your eyes take in her words.

/

_I don't know if you hate me... but I don't want you to hate me even more when I tell you this._

Your heart stops at the first line, and you find yourself frozen, unable to look away, to glance further down the page to see if this entry has an ending that's going to make you break all over again.

But when you take a few long breaths, when you manage to regain some vision and push the blur away that covers your eyes, you find that you are breaking, but not in the way you thought.

_I went out on a date._

_I didn't know I was going to.. it was a surprise one set up by Adam, but I still don't want you to hate me or him._

_He told me I should try to get over you and meet him for dinner to talk about you more, but when I got to the restaurant and this guy approached me, telling me that he was here for our date, I realized that Adam had set me up. _

_But I also realized something else._

_Nothing can ever replace you, San, and I don't see myself ever getting over you. I don't think I could even if I wanted to, and I never meant to fall in love with you, but I think it was just meant to be. I think we were meant to be, Santana, and I messed up. I messed up real bad, and I don't want you to hate me because I can't live in a world where I don't have you._

_Which is dumb (I know you hate it when I used that word but it is dumb) because I moved here, moved away from you for a year, but I just needed to figure things out._

_I needed to clear my head, and now it's four months since I've seen you and I still can't figure out why I came here._

_I just want to see you again. I just want to call you, to hear your voice, to know how you're doing and whether you're missing me... but I'm scared to. I'm scared that when I hear your voice, I'll get on the first plane back to you and you won't want to see me. I'm scared you hate me, and I miss you... _God, _I miss you, more than anything... and I wish you were here, or that I was there, but I don't know how you feel about me anymore._

_I'm not even sure this is coming out right, but what I'm trying to say is that I miss you. And that I love you more than anything._

_And always will._

_Forever yours,_

_Brittany._

/

There's a knock on your door just as you finish journal entry one hundred and seventeen.

You glance at the clock to find it's going on nine in the evening, and you frown because you weren't expecting anyone. Still, you get up and try not to hold onto the hope that Brittany might be standing behind the door and head toward it, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands as they're probably red and puffy. It's a lucky thing you don't get your hopes too high anyway, because when you open the door and find Sugar there, you're not (that) disappointed. You're just a little confused.

"Hey," you breathe, your eyebrows knitting together and eyes flitting around the empty hallway. "Everything okay?"

"I just came to apologize," Sugar spills out and once again, you're confused. Apologize for what?

You lean against the door and cock your head to the side. "For?"

Sugar's eyes flicker behind you and you turn to find her looking to the sofa where thousands of used tissues lay spread out and to where the journal lies open on the coffee table. Your body stiffens, and you begin feeling a little vulnerable and stupid that you're crying and so you shuffle out your apartment, pulling the door closed but not locking it, clearing your throat. Sugar snaps her vision away and back to you immediately because you just want to get this over and done with.

"For not telling you about Brittany and how she felt."

Had she come over here and apologized a few hours ago, you probably would've snapped and yelled because you did feel angry that she knew about Brittany and never told you. You were angry that she had this journal, that she probably read through it, or at least skimmed it—she would've had to, to have found that note that said to give the journal to you—but now you don't feel that. You don't feel like you want to scream at her because she didn't have to give that journal to you, she did it because she wanted you and Brittany back together.

Okay, maybe she didn't tell you that Brittany still loved you, but she knew you wouldn't listen to her. She wouldn't have come here to apologize if she was trying to be a bitch or whatever.

So you don't get angry. Instead, you just bite down on your lip, shrug your shoulders and shake your head as you say, "It's okay, Sugar. I know why you didn't."

Sugar shifts, her fingers toying nervously with the ends of her sleeve. "I was going to, but you wouldn't have—"

"I know," you cut in and step forward, opening your arms. "I'm not mad at you, so just hug me, okay?"

It's a little strange because you rarely offer out hugs to anyone that isn't Brittany, or related to you, and Sugar does catch up on that because she jerks a little, blinking confused but quickly steps into the hug and wraps her arms around you. And you wonder whether you should be pissed at her, wonder whether you actually have a valid reason to, but you're just so tired of being angry and sad and you don't want to have to deal with those negative emotions, so you just pull back, look her in the eye and offer a smile.

"You're really not mad?" She quietly whispers, still seeming unsure.

You laugh lowly through your nose and shake your head. "No, I'm not."

She seems to believe you, which is good because you are being honest, and you two talk for a little longer before she tells you she's going on a date with Sam and is already late.

You're a little shocked, but you were always convinced Sam had a thing for Brittany so you're kind of happy he's going out with Sugar, and bid her goodbye.

One less thing to feel negative about.

/

There's a couple of entries you come across where you wonder whether you actually wrote them.

For example, entry number two hundred and twenty-one:

_Santana... I can't even begin to describe how much I miss you._

_I couldn't even get out of bed today because of that. Because I was lying, staring at my ceiling and wondering whether you missed me back... whether you still even love me._

_I have pictures of us, of you, and I spend so much time looking at them, but it's not enough. I even have a video, but that's still not enough._

_I just need to see you. In person. I just need to know you're okay and to look into your eyes because it hurts without you._

_It feels like I can't breathe without you next to me._

_I love you. Always._

_Brittany._

They feel like you wrote them, because they have the same emotion, the same description of emptiness, and it's only after you finish reading them do you realize that there's an upside to when you and Brittany both felt like that; because neither of you work properly without each other.

It's not exactly the best realization, but it calms your nerves and dulls the pain a little, because you know that you and Brittany need each other.

And as you lie down and mull over her words, you hope that you never have to live without her again.

But that decision is pretty much up to you now.

/

The last one is the one that catches you off guard the most.

Out of all four hundred and twelve entries, only three of them contained mentions of the future, all of which were saying about how Brittany wasn't going to come back. Or rather, she wasn't sure if she was going to. It'd hurt to read it, but she'd already explained it to you and you're almost glad that you knocked the package off the bed and it went forgotten about for months because you're not sure what you would've done had you read this when she still wasn't near. You're not sure if you would've just given up and bought a ticket and flown straight to her, only to find out that she was no longer in London but elsewhere, touring the UK.

So for that you're glad, but this last one... this is the only one that actually mentions coming back to you. That mentions getting through everything and finding a happily ever after.

And this is how it goes:

_My dearest Santana,_

_This is the last entry I will write inside this journal. This might be the last time I ever talk to you, even if it through a journal and even if it is kind of one-sided._

_But I just feel like you have to know a few things. You have to know that I love you, but you should already because there hasn't been one letter where I haven't written it. I've meant every word when it's come to my feelings for you, and I don't want you to forget that either._

_Anyway, you have to know that if I ever do come back to you, if you ever choose to forgive me... that I will never leave you again. It was stupid, I was dumb, and I wish I'd never left. I wish I didn't get on that plane and I wish that I had just come back to the place I've only ever really known — your arms. I wish a lot of things; I should have done a lot of things, and I know it's pointless to just write this and then send it to you because I don't even know if you'll respond. I don't know if you'll be able to because I'm not staying here in London anymore, I'm going touring... I think. If I can handle being away from you any longer than I already have._

_But one thing, San... one thing I promise from the bottom of my heart, is that if you choose to let me back into your life, if I'm lucky enough that you forgive me... as long as you love me, we can make us work._

_I know we've got issues, and they're not going to go away with a simple apology, but I know we can work through them. I want to work through them, I want to sort it out and clear the air because I want you. I want you, all of you, forever and a day, and even if I come back and we spend months and months arguing, being angry at each other and yelling... it'd still be better than anything because I'd rather do all those things with you then start something with someone new._

_I'd rather go through the hardest, toughest times with you, than even think about anyone else._

_Because I love you, Santana. I love you, and if I come back... well, _when _I come back (I don't think I can stay away from you)... I will spend however long it takes, go through whatever conversations and do whatever you want if it means we end up together._

_But if you don't... well, I guess we'll just have to see when the time comes._

_I love you, Santana, and I can't stop loving you anymore than I can stop the world from turning. I wouldn't want to._

_So please take me back, please love me again._

_Your Brittany. Always._

/

You don't know how many times you read through that last one.

All you know is that by the time your eyes are stinging from the tears you're still shedding and sleep is reeling you in, the sun is rising. And you barely get to the three repetitions of those words you've longed to hear again for the thirty-sixth time before you get pulled under and fall asleep, the journal clutched close to your chest, trapped on that page.

Because soon... you've got to make a decision.

/

**I know it was short and I'm not happy with it but I didn't want to write pages and pages of Brittany's journal as I probably will do a few one-shots from her POV another time.**

**Thank you and drop a comment if you consider it worthy (:**


	22. Chapter 21

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Twenty-One]  
**Rating: **NC-17  
**Length: **11k

**Notes: **I know, I know, I'm a douche. I haven't updated in over two weeks and that's _never _happened for this story, but I recently got a new job and it's taking up all my hours and energy so when I do have free time, I use it to sleep. But I'm trying to complete this and get out chapters ASAP, but you gotta hang on in there with me guys. Anyway, thank you for all your feedback. I take in everything so it really does mean a lot, and also, there's probably only one chapter left, and then the epilogue. But don't hold me to it as I might change my mind. Thanks again guys, and enjoy!

/

You don't call Brittany the day after you read the journal.

You don't have a reason why, but you just feel like you want to gather your thoughts and read over the entries a few more times before you make a decision. Like, there's no doubt that you're in love with her and she's in love with you. There's no doubt that you two are going to end up together, because you're sure you two are soul mates... it's just that you don't know how to feel right now. Okay, she loves you and you love her back and that should mean that you two should be together, but it's more complicated than that.

You're not sure if you can trust her.

She didn't cheat on you, not even when that British guy Adam set her up to go on one because she ran away... but she still left you and walked out, and there's still a part of you in the back of your mind wondering where this leaves you two if you were to get together, and wondering how you two would pick up from where you left off. You still have your doubts, and there stupid and route to ridiculous insecurities, but they're still there and you can't fight that.

So you don't ring her immediately and you take a day out specifically to think it over.

/

Okay, so your plan was to just take the entire day to yourself and think over the whole Brittany situation, but then you get a text from Quinn and she's asking you a favor.

And you can be a bitch, but you know that this probably includes Beth and shit, you'll pretty much do anything for that girl.

So you pick up the phone and ring Quinn instead.

"What's the favor?" Is the first thing you say, in lieu of a greeting.

You can imagine Quinn rolling her eyes at you, and judging by the tone she speaks in after the brief pause, you think you were right. "_Well hello to you, too, Santana."_

"Yeah, yeah," you wave your hand around in the air and get up from your couch, making your way to the kitchen to make a coffee. "What's the favor?"

"_Okay, so basically you know how when I first moved to my building, I thought the super was kind of a douche..."_

"Yeah," you agree, specifically remembering how rude the guy was over the phone, and how much ruder he was in person. So much so that Quinn almost didn't move in, but then the guy lowered her rent a bit and you guess that okay, maybe having a douche for a super wasn't that bad if the rent wasn't overpriced.

"_Well a few days ago, Beth broke the toilet and he didn't take it too well."_

You flip on the coffee machine and lean back against the counter, one arm tucked beneath the other. "She broke the toilet again?" You ask.

Beth's a little clumsy, and you and Quinn know she doesn't mean to do it because she always ends up crying and trying to repair it herself with butterfly stickers and rolls of kiddy sellotape, but she still does it and now you can only imagine how pissed off the super was. He was always hesitant about having a child move into the building, but as he couldn't say no due to Quinn already having signed the contract with the realtors and you know, it having absolutely fuck all to do with him really, he always kept a close eye on the Fabray household.

You're actually pretty sure the few times he's attempted to fix the toilet himself, he actually broke it further just so when the real plumber came, the bill would be more for Quinn.

That's totally not the point here, though.

"_Yeah," _Quinn sighs and you pinch the bridge of your nose. "_So after a long discussion with the asshole we know as my super, I've decided it'd be easier if I just moved out. He's never liked Beth and he yelled at me in front of her when he found out about the toilet being broken again."_

You pick your head up, eyes wide. "You're _moving?_" You gasp, shaking your head. "Where?"

It's always been you, Quinn and Brittany living around the same area... though you suppose Brittany doesn't have her apartment anymore so you guess it doesn't make that much of a diff—

_Wait. _Where's Brittany going to live?

"What about Britt?" You cut in, temporarily forgetting about Quinn and Beth and their living situation. "Where's she going to live?"

Quinn pauses for a long moment and you wonder whether it's from her being pissed off that you're not really asking where she's going, or whether it's for something else, but when she speaks, you realize it's the latter. Though you are surprised it's not the former and it's when you think about that, that you get even more suspicious. The only reason she wouldn't immediately be pissed at you, or make a scathing remark about your choice of concerns would be because—

_Oh shit. _

She needs a favor.

And you think you know what it is.

"_That's the thing, S..."_

You body freezes because yep, definitely know what's coming. "Q..." You try but her voice overpowers you.

"_The apartment we're moving to is _so _small and it only has two bedrooms and Beth needs one now she's getting bigger, and so_—"

"Hold up," you say and lift your hand , holding it in mid-air, even though she can't see it. "You're not _actually_ asking me what I think you're asking me, are you?"

Quinn's silent for a long moment and you take that as a _yes, _she _is _asking what you think she is and you don't like it anymore than she did before. Though you don't say anything because you just need to know for definite that she's asking this of you.

"_Yes," _she rushes to get out. "_I am, but it's only for a week, S." _She pauses and you take in a deep breath through your nose but she barely gives you time to respond before she's talking again. "_It's just the new apartment only has two bedrooms, and we're not getting our couch and TV and stuff delivered until next week, and I don't really think she would wanna sleep on the floor and_—"

You pinch the bridge of your nose, your brows coming together and a deep frown adorning your face. "Quinn, I really don't think it's a good idea."

"_One week," _your friend repeats and you know she's begging—you can hear it in her tone—but it doesn't make it more acceptable. "_That's all she's asking, S."_

Your eyebrows knit together. "She?"

"_Well... yeah," _you friend replies simply. "_Brittany asked me to ask you if she could stay with you. I mean, I wouldn't ask if there was any other option but I told her I would. She's already signed a contract for a lease on an apartment, anyway, but she can't move in until next Saturday."_

You suppose it is only a week, but it's still an _entire week _of Brittany living with you and you know that's inevitably going to lead to you getting attached and you liking having Brittany there which will make it all the more painful when she leaves. Okay, rationally speaking, it is a week and you can't get _that _attached in that amount of time, but even when you spend an hour with Brittany, or even an entire day, you crave more of her company so you don't know what you'll be like after the week is up.

But that's not exactly healthy, and shit, if you're being real and honest here, an entire week of Brittany? The girl who prefers to walk around half-naked, if not naked, because it makes her feel more, 'natural and free?' How the hell are you supposed to keep yourself under control with that in your apartment? Especially as you know how she likes being a tease and especially as you know how... _limited _her underwear is, should she chose to wear any.

Sure, you two have done well so far, and okay you haven't exactly talked to her about the journal, but you're going to have to and that's something that should be done _before _you and her get... intimate again. It's something that needs to be done before anything else because you want to do it right this time. You want to do all that cliché crap and fall in love with her all over again, even though you never fell _out _of love with her.

You want to take her on dates, and get nervous when you walk her back to _her _apartment because you don't know whether to kiss her or not. You want to ask her to be your girlfriend and when you two are both ready, and most probably after many weeks of dry-humping and making out like there's no tomorrow, take the next step and have your second first time in a sweet, romantic way. You want to wonder whether it's okay to hold her hand, and feel those nervous butterflies in your stomach when her eyes drop to your lips at random events.

You just want to do it right, like you said, and having her in your apartment, with her probably waltzing around in next to nothing, probably _isn't _going to help that.

Except you've got to consider that she's still your best friend and you don't want her to spend a shit load of money on hotels, or sleep uncomfortably for seven nights.

So you guess you know your answer.

"Rachel and Kurt can't take her in?" You ask, just in case, but Quinn says no and you sigh again. "Fine," you huff out like it's a problem. "She can stay with me."

"_Great!" _Quinn chirps and your instant reaction is to narrow your eyes. She totally knew you were going to say yes. "_Now you get to tell and ask her because she doesn't know I asked you." _You face drops, jaw going with it so you could catch flies if you wanted to. "_And also, I need help moving boxes tomorrow and Brittany's coming which gives you the perfect opportunity to do so," _she continues, her voice over-excited and you squint fiercely, your nostrils flaring because you can just imagine the shit-eating grin on her face as she's leaving you no option as you quite obviously don't want a homeless and upset Brittany and so you're going to _have _to ask her. "_So I'll see you bright and early, and bring coffee! Thanks, S!"_

You don't even get to release the beast within before you're listening to the dial tone down the phone. So you just pull your phone away from your ear, stare at it incredulously for a few long, unnecessary seconds before you move into the living room, forget your coffee—which in five minutes you'll force yourself to get up from—and throw a little tantrum because you know you've got to talk to Brittany and ask her to live with you for a week even though it's _totally_ going to make things even weirder considering you haven't even spoken to her about the damn journal yet.

_God. _

Quinn's _such_ a bitch.

(Though you are kind of glad you're being forced to have 'the talk.')

(You're not sure when you would've done it otherwise.)

/

Coffees in hand, you head towards Quinn's new building and press the buzzer with the missing label beside it. She buzzes you in and you smile at the doorman as you wander toward the elevator, climbing into it and heading up to the seventh floor.

You get a little nervous as you walk to her door, because you know Brittany's always had impeccable timing (when she doesn't lose her phone, her watch or somehow end up getting the subway to Staten Island when she was trying to get to The Bronx) and the chances are, she's already in there. Though you suppose you've got to stop being such a freaking pussy and just man up and face her because you've got to at some point and now is a good of a time as any, especially as Quinn's around as you two won't be able to... get _distracted_.

Your knuckles make a hollow tapping as you rap them against the door, and barely seconds later, the door's swinging open and Quinn's there, her hair stuck up in all different places and a slight layer of sweat across her brow. You almost make a remark about how it's probably been a while since she's been that sweaty for a good reason, but then she's grabbing the coffee, tugging you in by the elbow and pushing you toward the hallway.

Beth's sitting on the only piece of furniture in the living room, the sofa, and you try to flash her a smile, catch her eye to say hello but she's too immersed in whatever cartoon's playing on television. Plus there's the fact that Quinn's tugging and forcing you in the opposite direction by your elbow, and you don't even get time to look around the new apartment or hiss at her tight grip because before you can whip your head around, Brittany's stepping out of one of the rooms and you're catching your breath at the sight of her.

It's still having this effect on you, and you're finding her stupidly attractive considering she's only wearing yoga pants and a tank top and you kind of wish you could switch off your hormones because you don't need to be _this _attracted to her when you've got to have a serious freaking talk with her about the future of yours and hers possible (read: very likely) relationship.

She's tucking her hair behind her ear, giggling lightly when you come back down to earth, and when she ducks her head and you see the pink tint to her ears, you begin blushing and giggling yourself because she totally just caught you staring at her. Though you don't really care, because somehow she always manages to make you into a complete fool; always manages to transform you from a strong, confident woman to a pile of pathetic, nervous butterflies.

You honestly don't know what's happened to you.

(Love.)

"Hi," she whispers and you feel your entire body lift at the sound of her voice.

Blood rushes to your face. "Hi," you murmur back and shift your weight from one leg to the other, just staring at her.

It feels like forever that you're staring at her, that you two are in your own little world, just drinking in the sight of each other, but you guess it's just a few seconds in reality because Quinn's suddenly stepping between you, breaking your little gazing game and releasing your arm.

"Okay, you two," she draws out. "Break it up. _You_ need to get building," she points at you and then looks at the other blonde. "And _you _need to get arranging."

Brittany nods obediently but you cock your head to the side and glare at Quinn. "Why do I get to build?"

Quinn smirks and you wish you hadn't said that because you can already imagine what's coming.

"I'm guessing you're good with your hands," she retorts and you watch her stifle a giggle as apparently she finds herself terribly amusing. "Right, Britt?"

Okay, you were expecting the first but not the second bit. Your eyes widen comically and you try not to splutter and shake your head, but you do anyway and Quinn just continues smirking, knowing the effect she's having on you. It's still weird knowing that she knows about you and Brittany considering your sex life with Brittany was never out in the open like this. And you know in time, you'll probably start giving them details and teasing the shit out of Quinn because you are (or were) getting laid more than she was, but right now it's all kinds of weird.

"Definitely good with her hands," Brittany says, straight out and you snap your eyes to her, widening them as if to say _what the hell!?_ She just grins back though and when you glance at Quinn, you realize her face has dropped and she doesn't really have a response to that.

Brittany's a genius.

"Erm—okay," Quinn suddenly seems embarrassed and a little flushed by the information Brittany's given, despite Quinn actually starting it and she twists around and back a few times, clearly unsure of what she was about to say seeing as Brittany ruined her little comment. "Well, you two get on with it."

You furrow your brow when you realize Quinn's turning away and heading back to the living room and jerk your head. There's no way in hell you're going to be her bitch and build her freaking furniture AND buy coffees if she's just going to sit on her ass.

"Whoa, hold up," you blurt out and Quinn stops, looks at you. "Where you going?"

"I've gotta take Beth to see Puck for an hour or two," she explains with a shrug, but you're still suspicious. You narrow your eyes.

"So you're expecting us to just do your shit for you and that's it?"

Hazel eyes flicker behind you quickly, but Quinn just shrugs again, this time with more purpose and pastes a too-large smile on her face. "Pretty much," she confirms and calls Beth over to her, grabbing the smallest coat off the rack and handing it to her daughter before putting on her own.

You fold your arms over your chest and move toward the door, grabbing the edge of it and holding it open as you glance at her. You can't feel the warmth behind you which means Brittany didn't follow you to the front door, but just in case, you spare a look over your shoulder, seeing her at the end of the hallway, staring out the window before you return your gaze back to your blonde friend who's now staring at you with an open expression.

"What are you up to?"

You ask at the question because you're pretty fucking suspicious. First of all she calls you over to help moving her stuff into her apartment even though now you've got here, you're finding out that you're just building her furniture instead and that she's pretty much set up already; secondly, she conveniently invites Brittany over, too; and thirdly, she's leaving just as you get here? _Conveniently _abandoning you _alone _with Brittany, never-the-less?

You know Quinn Fabray. She's sly and incredibly devious and behind every one of her actions is a well thought about plan.

"Me?" She gasps a little and you cock a brow, giving her a dead look. She just grins. "I'm not up to anything," she replies, looking down to her daughter as she helps Beth put her arms through the arm holes of her coat. "Although," she lowers her voice into a whisper and glances behind you. "Me, Rachel and Kurt have arranged a last-minute surprise welcome back party for Britt in a few days," she tells you and you narrow your eyes.

"A last-minute surprise welcome back party?" You repeat, skeptically. You're a little suspicious to say the least. "Shouldn't you have done a welcome back party the day she came back?"

Quinn tilts her head to the side and gives you a look. "We _would've _done if Brittany hadn't insisted on coming straight to you the second we picked her up," she informs you and your stomach flips and flutters at the thought that the first thing Brittany wanted to see when she touched down at JFK was you.

You suck in your lips to hide the smile threatening to break through, but you know by the glint in hazel eyes that you don't manage to hide it completely.

Still, you push past that and look at your friend again. "Fine," you say, shrugging your shoulders. "Go and do your thing and come back," you tell her as if you're not kind of still pissed off she's just leaving you, and very much suspicious that she's doing that whilst simultaneously leaving you alone with Brittany. "We'll be fine."

She stares at you for a long moment before finally moving her head, bobbing it up and down in a nodding motion and then telling Beth that it's time to go.

You watch her disappear down the hallway before entering the elevator and completely removing herself from your sight, and then you close the door and turn back to look at Brittany who's now standing merely a few meters away from you, her eyes hesitant and hands toying nervously with the hem of her shirt, revealing the small slither of skin between the sweats that hang low on her hips and her one size too small tank top that cling to her delicious abs.

You gulp, because when you said to Quinn you and Brittany would be fine, you were hoping that you would keep a safe distance from Brittany and barely even exchange a conversation, but it's only now you realize you two are alone and there's no way in hell you can do that whilst she's looking so damn cute and sexy at the same time and _damn, _this might not be as easy as you thought.

"We should probably go into the bedroom," Brittany whispers and her eyes widen comically when she backtracks over her words. You think all the oxygen in the room just disappeared. She shakes her head and splutters a little. "I mean, to—erm... to do what Quinn asked," she elaborates, furrowing her brow and dropping her nervous gaze to the floor.

Despite feeling all hot under the collar at the suggestion and the millions of images of you and Brittany naked and tangled together running through your mind, somehow you manage to nod and reply a weak and hushed, "_yes," _before you both begin walking side-by-side to the bedroom and you stand aside to let her in first, sweeping your hand in.

She flashes you a grateful smile and steps in, and you take in a long, deep breath before following her in and closing the door behind you.

You can totally do this.

/

Okay, maybe you can't totally do this.

For the past hour, you've made small talk with Brittany as you helped her unpack a few boxes, and you know you were the designated builder of furniture of whatever, but there are shit loads of boxes and only like, the bed to make so you decided to help Brittany first.

Anyway, about forty-five minutes into the hour, when you and Brittany were discussing what you'd been doing in the time you haven't been together—thinking about Brittany, reading that journal, thinking about Brittany a little more, crying over the journal and then thinking about Brittany a little more—somehow, Brittany, being the klutz she is, didn't see one of the smaller boxes lying on the floor as she carried a larger box to the other side of the room, and stumbled over it.

It was your immediate reaction to try to catch her as she fell—ironic—and you dropped the box you were holding, thankful that it was only full of pillows, as you leaped across the meter wide gap and wrapped your arms around her waist, steadying her.

At the time, it seemed like a good thing to do, but when she regained her balance and footing, which barely took a second or two, and turned her head to thank you, it was suddenly _incredibly _clear how close you two had gotten and how you were sharing the same air, your hearts beating as one as you were pressed against her side and back. It broke something inside of you, because in that moment you forgot about how you needed to talk to her about the journal, needed to clear the air and discuss where you two were going, if you were going anywhere, and you just wanted to make yourself and Brittany feel good and kiss her.

You craved it, so badly, and you knew she felt the same way because despite your grip loosening from around her waist, she stayed close and turned her body, her neck staying routed and eyes dropping down to your lips, but you knew it was a bad idea. You knew it deep down because no matter how much you wanted to kiss her, it wouldn't have meant what you wanted it to because you two hadn't quite got _there _yet. You hadn't made her yours yet, and so you told yourself to step away from the way Brittany was breathing against your cheek, how her lips were grazing your skin every time she inhaled.

And fucking _hell, _if that wasn't one of the hardest things you'd ever had to do, you didn't know what was.

You'd cleared your throat, straightened up and backed away, ignoring the rejection you felt burning into the back of your head through blue eyes, but now it's fifteen minutes later and no further words have been spoken which, honestly, is making this entire situation awkward and you don't really want it to be like that. Although you don't really know why it's taken you this long to start-up a conversation, but whatever, you're just going to start talking about whatever you can.

Maybe that'll make the situation a little more comfortable.

"So, uh... why are you back at the coffee shop?" You blurts out, questioning herself.

Brittany, bending over (Lord, help you) and rummaging through one of the boxes, turns her head to look at you, but her face is contorted with confusion and worry. "I... I thought you said that was okay?" She stutters out, her eyes locked onto you.

You realize how your question could've sounded and widen your eyes, shaking your head rapidly. "No, no," you get out in a rush. "I just meant, why are you there if you went to London for an internship?"

"Oh," she says, her face relaxing, and just by that your pulse begins slowing down. "Um, well... I mean... I've got a few interviews coming up for magazines and stuff," she shrugs like it's not a big deal but you straighten up, pushing your hair back from your face as you look at her. You didn't know she had an interview and now your chest is swelling with pride, a smile reflecting that crossing your face.

"You got some interviews?"

You repeat her words and when she notices you're standing up and smiling, she begins smiling herself and straightens, biting on her lower lip as she twists her torso from left to right as she nods. You recognize the gesture because she does it whenever you call her smart, or a genius, or say something about how you know she's going to make it in this world because she's too clever and special not to, and back when she used to do that, back before she left for London, you would find yourself unable to stop grinning because she's so fucking adorable and wind up pulling her on top of you on the bed or the sofa and kissing her senseless.

Probably wouldn't be the best idea if you did that now, though.

"Yeah," she confirms quietly, despite already bobbing her head. "So, um... I—You don't have to worry about me being around too much," she continues.

Eyebrows furrowing, you look to her in confusion because you don't know what the hell she's talking about, but when your mind reels back to yesterday, when Quinn asked you if Brittany could stay with you, you realize that she's talking about that _now _and your mouth drops open. But wait... you thought Quinn told you to ask her because she hadn't?

"Um," you clear your throat, your eyebrows knitting together as you drop your vision to the cardboard box you're currently tracing your finger around the top of. "How do you know about that?"

Brittany's eyes lock onto you but you don't meet them. "Quinn," she replies and it's then that you look at her. "She told me... she said you offered to let me stay with you."

You can't help but let out a laugh because Quinn's always been a devious bitch, but you can't believe you didn't see this one coming. "Oh, man," you say, beneath your breath, but Brittany still hears.

"What?"

Picking your head up, the laughter dies down but you're still laughing a little when you say, "Quinn totally got us." Brittany couldn't look more confused if she tried, so you decide to elaborate, "She told me you asked _me _if you could stay with me, but she told you that I asked _you _to stay."

It takes a few seconds but when it sinks in, Brittany's face drops and you can tell she feels just as foolish as you did. She begins laughing, too, and you feel a little lighter, the tension fade from between you two because really, you two should've known something was going on. You should've known that Quinn was trying to play some part in getting you to talk to each other, and after a minute of chuckling together, you realize you haven't actually told her it's okay for her to stay with you, which you know, somewhere in her mind, she'll be wondering.

"It's okay, by the way," you drop in casually. "To stay with me."

The way Brittany's eyes shine when she looks at you almost rips the breath straight from your chest because you knew what she was thinking, but you guess she didn't know that you knew that and now she's staring at you like she's never been more in love.

(You know the feeling.)

"Thank you," she whispers and you smile back at her, lifting your shoulder and rolling your eyes playfully, but it's not like you'd have it any other way.

Sure, okay, when you talked to Quinn last night and asked if there was nowhere else Brittany could stay, including Kurt and Rachel's place, you sounded like you didn't want her staying with you, but you know that _had_ Quinn turned around and said that Kurt and Rachel could take her in, you would've protested. Because the truth is you'd much rather have her around, no matter what troubles it brings, because you can find peace of mind when you know that she's within touching distance.

You find peace of mind to know that if you need to smile, all you have to do is look to her and hey presto, there's a smile and you find peace of mind to know that the person that possesses your heart is a few rooms away.

Even if in a week, those things won't be possible.

You're so wrapped up in your thoughts that you don't realize how you're gazing and smiling softly at her, and you're so wrapped up in your thoughts that you don't even register how she's coming toward you and angling around one of the boxes on the floor until she's standing directly in front of you, barely half a meter separating your bodies.

But when you do, your automatic reaction is to take a step back because you're having difficulty even being in the same room as her at the minute, let alone being within kissing distance, but she's too close. She's too fucking close for you to step away from now because your head is swimming with her perfume, and your entire body is buzzing and humming at the thrill of having her this close again.

Really, it's kind of annoying, but you find it hard to _be _annoyed because she's moving a hand to your wrist and her fingers are wrapping around it, thumb stroking over the pulse point as her eyes bore into yours from the two-inch height gap, and all coherent and functional thoughts just sort of... disappear from your mind.

All you can think and feel is Brittany.

"Did you read it?" She murmurs, and you watch her lips move to form the words, suddenly entranced by the shape of them and the memory of how they felt pressed against yours.

Your vision flits up briefly, and you know her question is random, out of the blue and definitely _nothing _to do with what you were just talking about, but you already know what she's referring to and your throat's now thick and heavy.

Still, you find yourself nodding, answering her question even though you're not sure you should be. After all, now that you've read it, shouldn't you have said something?

"And?" She presses on, her voice breathless and you know there's no point in trying to hide how nervous you are because she's stroking the pad of her thumb over your pulse point in your wrist. Hell, you can barely hear her because the blood is rushing to your ears and you feel like this is a now or never moment, and she's staring at you like she's waiting for you to say something but you don't know what to say.

Are you supposed to tell her you love her? Because you've already done that.

Are you supposed to tell her that now you've read the journal, everything's fine? Because it's not.

Are you supposed to tell her that love just isn't enough for you two and walk away? Because you can't.

You don't know what to say, and she's so close now that you can feel her body heat radiating through your clothing and burning onto your skin, and you know if she doesn't move away within the next two seconds you're going to kiss her. It might seem like a good idea now, but you know that if you kiss her, you won't be able to stop and passion and your emotions will take over and the chances are, you two will probably end up having slow, sweaty, romantic sex right here in Quinn's brand new apartment.

Quinn would not be best pleased.

"I..."

You try to get a word out; you try to get _anything _out, but the second your lips move, you feel the feather light touch of Brittany's fingertips stroking over the muscles in your neck, her hand making a path up to your jaw as the other one continues to grasp at your wrist, thumb still smoothing over your pulse slowly.

And really, it's your downfall because now she's lowering her head, her breath coming out in short pants against your nose and you can't prevent your eyes from falling shut at the sensation.

She smells of sweetness, of everything you've ever wanted and there's definitely a hint of coconut in there somewhere and it's taking over your senses and stopping you from making any type of clever decision. It's making all the words in your vocabulary just vanish and you hold back a moan when her head dips a little further and you feel the zing of energy zap from face to face as she closes the gap a little and lets her lips linger over yours. Ghosting over them. Teasing you.

"Santana," her voice is strained, and you don't know how she can even think of names at the moment, but it's enough to make you open your eyes and find hers, right before you, bright, but somehow dark at the same time. You don't think you've ever seen her as beautiful as she is now. "I'm—"

"No," escapes your lips, because you know what's coming and you don't want her to apologize.

You really don't want her to because then she's acknowledging that you two probably shouldn't be headed down this road and that means she might stop, and honestly, you don't know what you'd do if she were to pull away.

Shit. What if she pulls away?

Your eyes widen at the possibility, at the likeliness of that happening and you suddenly feel this sharp thing slice through your chest, resembling panic but also feeling like desperation. It makes your heart pick up its pace, and you're suddenly overwhelmed into thinking that this might be the last chance you have to kiss her.

It's stupid, and later you'll realize that, and you'll wonder why you suddenly went into panic mode, but right now you don't even think about that and before you know it, you're taking her cheeks between your hands and pressing your lips against hers. She gasps, and you wonder if somehow you read the signs wrong but you know you can't have done, she was two seconds away from kissing _you, _but it still makes you stop.

It _still_ cuts the kiss short, and you _still_ pull away, wide-eyed and wondering if you just overstepped the line you freaking _drew _because you _still _haven't talked about you two.

But it seems for her too, coherency has shot straight out the window because when your hands drop back down to your side, your breath hitching in your throat as you take a step back, she's closing the gap between your bodies, placing her hands on your cheeks now and dipping her head until nudging her nose against yours and then bringing your mouths together. You whimper initially, your chest filling with warmth and buzzing with butterflies and when you manage to kick your brain into gear, your hands shoot straight to her hips and you kiss her back.

She's the one to make the bolder move, and you sigh because you feel so damn scared, so hesitant that you're going to somehow fuck this up again that you're glad she's taking the reigns because you just can't. Her tongue pokes out and slides along the seam of your lips, and you fight back a moan as you part your lips and let her tongue flutter into your mouth, flick against the roof of it and then slip over the tip of yours.

Now, you've kissed this girl a million times. You can remember how it felt to kiss her for the first time, you can remember how it felt to kiss her for the second time in the bar, but none of your previous kisses compare to this because for some reason, this feels the type of kiss you've read about in fairy tales. This feels like the type of kiss you've seen in movies between two characters that have been through such a journey together, that deserves that happy ending.

This feels like the type of kiss that you've always wanted; that you've dreamed about since you were a little girl.

Your thoughts are swiftly interrupted when Brittany throws her arms around your neck and pulls you close, and you're so caught up in slinging your arms low around her waist, your palms pressing against the small of her back to bring her even closer that you don't register that you're stumbling backward until it's too late. There are just so many damn boxes darted around the floor and you're way too occupied with Brittany's tongue in your mouth to think about anything else, but when you hit the floor and Brittany lands on top of you, you wish that maybe, you'd looked where you were going.

But then Brittany's laughing as she lies on top of you, her face and giggles muffled against the crook of your neck and your hands begin stroking down her back as you ignore the dull ache in your own one and you really don't mind that much because you're feeling really fucking happy right now. Somehow you've gone from being overly nervous to ecstatically happy, but you don't even want to question the sudden change in atmosphere because you're just... well, you're just fucking elated.

"Ow," you finally groan, and you feel Brittany pick her head up from your neck, her hands come to either side of your head to support her as she looks down at you.

"Sorry," she murmurs sheepishly, but you don't really care that there's a throbbing pain in your lower back because the way her body is pressing down on your front totally makes up for it.

So you just shake your head, rolling your eyes playfully and you tell her it doesn't matter with a scrunch of your nose, and she replies with her own nose wiggle. Except her hips wiggle too, and your eyes widen comically as you become ever aware of the bulge pressing against the inside of your jeans, but she must notice, too, because her eyes turn a shade darker and her lips curve into a small smirk.

Okay, the atmosphere just switched back again.

You open your mouth to say something, to make a comment about it to fill the silence between you but then Brittany's lowering her head, her lips pressing against yours and her body slinking back down over yours as she moves her hands to your hair. Your grip tightens on her waist, and you pull her hips down and move yours up to get some type of friction going because you can feel the heat prickling all over your skin, and she giggles against your lips.

You don't know why, but it's just such a happy sound that you can't help but giggle back; but when your hands move from her hips down to her ass, fingers gripping the flesh and pulling her down until you can feel her heat burning through layers of fabric, her giggle fades and transforms into a moan.

It makes your giggle change, too, and when you begin rocking together, her crotch purposely grinding down against the bulge, making you stiffen until you're almost in pain from being so hard and craving for her touch, you realize that your earlier thoughts were pretty much spot on because you know now that you and Brittany are going to wind up having sex in Quinn's apartment. Just on the floor of her bedroom instead of something normal, like a bed or a sofa.

A whimper comes from one of you, who you're not sure, and seconds later, she's breaking away, gasping for breath and nudging her nose against the line of your jaw until soft lips are pressing down the slope of your neck, a hot, wet tongue sliding across your throat and sharp teeth grazing lightly over your pulse point. And this time when there's a whimper, you definitely know it's you because you feel her lips stretch into a wide smirk against your skin.

"Britt," you pant, your head tilting further to the side so she can gain more access and she readjusts her legs, fitting them either side of your hips so she's straddling you completely. You don't know why you called her name, you don't really have a reason, you just feel so good and she's making you feel like that so you did it.

Though it's then that you realize you're not really doing much yourself, so you decide to pick up the rocking pace and remove one hand from her ass, keeping one on there to steady the motions and reach around between your bodies to her stomach with the other. Her stomach muscles quiver at your touch, her kisses stuttering against your neck and you manage to clear your mind for a second to nudge down the front of her sweatpants, your fingertips flicking the waistband of her underwear before you delve under, the pads of your fingers immediately rolling over her clit.

Her hips jerk at your touch, her kisses growing sloppy and you move your fingers in a circular motion, listening to the slight mewling she makes as the kisses turn more open-mouthed and move from your throat to the spot beneath your ear, before her lips wrap around your earlobe and suck with intent.

"San," she moans into your ear, her breath hot and heavy. "San, I—"

You know what she needs just by the tone of her voice, by the way she husks into your ear and by the way her hips roll into your hand. You know what she needs, but as you look up at her with her flushed face, swollen lips and dark, dark eyes, you find it hard to kick your brain into gear and enable yourself to give her that. She's just so distracting.

But apparently you must stare for a beat too long, or she just knows you really damn well because fingers wrap around your wrist and Brittany's pulling your hand free from the confinements of her underwear and sweats. You whimper at the loss of contact, your lower lip jutting out but just leans down to suck on your pout before shifting backward, her hands immediately going to your jeans and fingers hooking into the top of them.

Her eyes meet yours as she pops open the button and unzips your pants, and you lift your hips, helping her as she tugs them down as far as they'll go with her straddling your knees before she rises on her knees and pushes her own pants down.

And you want to watch her, to take in the movement of her body, the flexing of her ab muscles and the way her hair falls messily — but in a really fucking sexy way, too — around her shoulders as she whips her shirt off in one smooth motion, but she's staring at you with a hungry gaze, her teeth biting on her lip and her eyes boring into yours and you know she isn't looking for slow, sweaty sex.

So you grab the hem of your own shirt, managing to keep one eye on her as she tries to pull herself free of her clothes without having to separate herself from you completely, and pull the front over your head, not even bothering to take it off completely as you leave it hooked around the back of your neck, leaving your torso free. Hands rake down your stomach barely a second later, nails scratching lightly over the skin and you shudder, your hands shooting to Brittany's hips as she begins rolling her hips purposely over the very visible bulge in your pants.

_God. _You've never wanted her this much.

She begins making these sexy little noises, and you get so caught up in the friction, in the pleasure you're gaining from the motions she's making above you that you almost forget that the best hasn't even happened yet, but she doesn't because the next thing you know she's calling your name, in more than a moaned murmur and your opening your eyes to stare into hers, gulping at the sudden flurry of emotion you see behind them.

"I—" She starts, but it's quickly cut off when you buck your hips.

You don't know why you did it, or whether your brain made the decision to or it was just your body having a reaction, but you just know that you don't want her to speak now because you both need this. Sure, it's only been like, two days since you did this last—and even then you spent a good day in bed together, reacquainting yourselves with each other and making love for hours upon hours without break—but it still feels like there's something you need to prove.

It feels like you need to know that this isn't just sex, even though both of you know it isn't.

You think you knew that the moment you woke up after your first night together.

(And, if you're honest, you're still fucking terrified to know what the future holds with you and Brittany, because there's a part of you that's still convinced nothing will come together.)

Brittany catches herself with her hands either side of your head after the spontaneous buck of your hips, and you take the moment to dust kisses across her chest, to run your tongue through the valley of her breasts, ignoring the urge you have to reach around and snap off her bra when you come into contact with soft lace because there's this urgency you can feel humming in the atmosphere and removing clothes will only slow this down.

And even though it's kind of ridiculous that neither of you are naked, both have your pants on (even if they are pushed down past your knees,) you have your shirt hooked over your neck and Brittany's is still looped around her wrist through the arm hole, you don't really care.

Because all you know is that right now, you need her and she needs you.

Your lips continue their path up her chest, to her collarbone before you coax her down with a hand wrapped around her neck to kiss her on the mouth again, and she moans as one of her hands trails down your front again, nails grazing over your toned abdomen, the other hand grasping at your shoulder. One of her fingers flicks against the waistband of your boxers, teasing you and you nip at her bottom lip, needing to let her know how painfully hard you are, even though you're sure she can feel it but she just smirks against your lips and you know she's doing it on purpose.

Luckily, though, she doesn't tease for too long and you suspect it's because she wants—no, _needs_ this as much as you do. Her fingers slide beneath the waistband again and you feel her lift up and yourself spring free as she pushes your boxers down to mid-thigh, warmth spreading through you as she lowers herself again, this time on your thighs as she wraps a hand around you and begins stroking languidly.

Her tongue pushes into your mouth at the same time her thumb flicks over the head of your cock, and you gasp, your grip tightening around your hip as you grip at them with both hands again. She only strokes you three or four times, before you feel her shifting on you and pull back from the kiss, watching her push her underwear down to mid-thigh much like yours are before she's grabbing you again, lifting onto her knees guiding you to where she needs you.

Your hips twitch the second you feel the head press against her entrance, and your eyes meet hers, locking intensely as she sinks down onto you, her face contorting with pleasure and teeth biting down on her bottom lip. It feels so incredibly fucking wet and warm and you can feel her stretching around you, taking you in and squeezing and the back of your head digs into the hard wood of the floor as you resist the urge to thrust up with your hips and bury yourself all the way inside her.

"_Santana,_" she breathes, groaning as you bottom out inside of her, her hips settled against yours and you can't help but find yourself mesmerized by the sight in front of you.

You've always loved the way Brittany looks when you're inside her, and you want to just watch her now because you went for so long without this that now you treasure every single time you get to witness such a sight.

The hand she has on your shoulder drifts down and over to settles on your breastbone, her other hand comes out from between her legs to join the other, and you watch her face slowly relax, the crease in her brow slowly relaxing and her lip releasing from sharp, white teeth as she begins moving. Except it feels like something's happening too soon, something you don't know and you grab her hips and still her, making her open her eyes and meet yours.

"Britt..."

Your sentence doesn't continue anymore than that, but it seems that whatever you felt, whatever you're feeling must have got through because the sudden haze of arousal in Brittany's eyes, the one you were entranced by just a second ago, is now shifting into deep affection and unadulterated love. Don't get it wrong, there's still that need, that want, that lust, but in this moment, as you look at her, you suddenly feel like you don't need to have 'the talk' and go over what's going to happen between you two, because both of you know that neither of you want anyone or anything else. Everything feels wrong when you're not together, and hell, even when you _look _at another women it feels wrong.

The only thing that feels right is Brittany.

And you're guessing by the way she's gazing down at you now, her eyes soft, her smile, too, that it's the same for her.

But that's not what you're focusing on now, and when you shift, you realize what's going on right now, and she does, too because a breathy gasp escapes her lips and her fingers curl against your skin, nail scratching gently.

It's all you need to feel the atmosphere switch, and you roll your hips experimentally against hers, feeling yourself move inside of her. She groans, and her eyes flutter, and you begin creating a steady pace, marveling in the small noises that come from the back of Brittany's throat every time you push all the way in. It's driving you crazy, and you know it's not just the sex that's doing it—it's Brittany, too—but the mix is just incredible.

"_Ugh_, San," she pants, rotating her hips in time with the movement of yours, and you close your eyes when she begins clenching around you a bit each time you pull out, almost like she's desperate to keep you inside. Your hands slip down and around from her hips to her ass, and you massage the soft flesh, helping her rock into you and making the most heavenly of noises come from the girl above you as pleasure sparks through your very being.

This is so much of what you missed when she was away. Not just being inside her, of moving with her and knowing how to shatter and break above you in a way that no-one's ever made her shatter and break before, but the intimacy of being with her. You missed being so close to her. You missed the feel of her skin against yours. You missed the squeaks she makes when you tap _that _spot inside of her and you missed the way she knows what you're thinking and the way her lips quirk up as she leans down, pressing her chest against yours and nudging her nose against your top lip before she kisses you.

You missed all of it, and for the love of God, you don't have a freaking clue why you didn't run after her when she left.

"Oh, Santana... you—_God, _you just feel so—_so _good..." she breathes against your mouth, unable to keep kissing you from the intensity of your motions.

Still, you hold her close, your hands gliding up her back and stroking over her skin as you both move together because you don't want her to move away. You just want her, all of her, and it's really hard to keep inside the three little words that just want to spill from your mouth as you open your eyes and find her staring down at you through hooded blue. Your skin buzzes with ecstasy, the heat building at the base of your back and causing small shockwaves of pleasure to shoot through you, but you can already feel yourself getting closer to closer and you want to come with her. You want to feel that connection of body, of souls and of hearts, and so you pick up the pace.

Your hands clutch at her back and you plant your feet on the floor, bending your knees so she shifts further up your lap. For a second all movement ceases, the angle pausing the thrusts but then you're starting again and setting up a rhythm of deep, long strokes, holding yourself inside her every now and then before pulling out and fucking her quickly once more. Jolted noises like whimpers and moans pour form her mouth, and she tilts her forehead against yours, her hair falling around your faces as you stare at each other and you can feel her hands slide up to your neck, fingers wrapping around it to hold onto as you pound into her from below.

It feels hot, hungry and heavy, the way you're slamming into her, but it's not. The way she's holding your eyes, the way her fingers are toying with the fine hairs at the nape of your neck and the way she's kissing you with her breath because the pace doesn't allow your lips to makes you know that this isn't _just _about sex. This is about reuniting with each other and you letting her know that you still love her, you still want her, _especially _after reading that journal.

You can hear her chanting your name, the husked and broken, "_Santana, Santana, Santana," _and it sends thrills up your spine as you watch her getting closer and closer to the edge. Her face scrunches up, a crease forming between her brow and lips parted and you can feel and hear the short, shallow breaths coming from there as she grinds down, rotating her hips and know it'll only be a few more thrusts until she's coming hard against you.

And you want that quicker, you want to feel her clenching around you quicker so you release one hand from her back and push it between your bodies, gliding down until you're rolling the pad of your fingers over her clit in short, sharp circles. Then seconds later, the breath is hitching in her throat and she's gasping, her hips stilling against yours as she begins quaking and breaking above you, falling over the edge and into a mind-blowing orgasm.

You don't let up though and continue hammering into her, needing to prolong it, and you do because barely moments after you think she's finished coming, you're pinching her clit, thrusting into her in a way that you know makes her come in under two minutes, and she's clenching rhythmically around you again and holding you in until you yourself are being pushed over the edge at the same time her second orgasm crashes down upon her.

This time though, you crane your neck, pick it up from the floor and kiss her, pushing your lips hard against hers as she whimpers and you feel yourself release into her, small short bursts of intense pleasure surging through you like sparks. The grip on your cock tightens, and you grunt as she works you for everything you got as she comes. Her breath stills for long seconds, her entire body tensing above you but you just keep kissing her, your arms snaking around her body to hold her as close as possible against you.

It takes a few moments, but then she's collapsing against you, burying her face into your neck after lifting her hips, effectively letting you slide out from within, and the tension falls from your limbs as you slump onto the floor, leaving you and Brittany both to dwell in complete ecstasy.

/

After minutes of peaceful, comfortable silence, and after the aftershocks of Brittany's climax have faded away, you feel her pull away from your neck and prop herself up on quivering arms either side of your head. Your hands stroke up and down the sweaty skin of her back, and you continue the motion even as she dusts kisses across your cheeks, jawline and then to your lips, pressing a firm kiss there before coming back and staring you in the eye.

"Hi," she whispers, bumping her nose against yours.

You giggle a little, squirming like you don't like the affection she's giving you. "Hey," you murmur back, staring adoringly and already wetting your lips in preparation to kiss her.

She must see it, too, must know what it means because she leans down and kisses you again, this time a little longer, a little harder, her hands moving to your hair, fingers tangling through dark locks as her tongue brushes over your bottom lip. But then she pulls away, your lips making a smacking sound and you follow her a little, pecking her quickly before falling back to the floor, her hand cradling your skull so you don't smack it against the hardwood floor.

Her fingers shift and begin playing with the hairs at the back of your neck again. "So..." she draws out the word, leaving it up to you to continue.

You gulp a little, but smile, too. "So," you repeat, a little breathless.

Brittany stares a little blankly at you after that, and you hate that you can see the disappointment in her eyes because you decided to freaking repeat the word instead of continue and picking up where you two left off before... _that _happened, because you promised yourself you wouldn't get scared. You promised yourself that you wouldn't try to dodge the bullet and instead take it head on because you _need _to sort you and Brittany out. You need some clarity as to what you are, and you just had a grand opportunity but you skipped on it completely.

And you're just about to apologize; you're just about to blurt out the question you've been dying to ask her for almost two years and try to make her yours, but then you hear the click of the front door and freeze. Blue eyes lock onto you, growing wider and wider with each passing second and you stop breathing all together when you hear the swoosh and then footsteps pad into the apartment, and muffled, "_Santana! Brittany!" _flow through the apartment.

Because, well, _fuck._

Quinn's home.

/

**Just a heads up, this isn't beta'd and I didn't even read over it cos I'm a lazy shit. I barely skimmed over it so all mistakes are my own.**

**One more chapter to go, people! Then the epilogue... so you could say two but whatever.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and if you feel like it was worthy of a review, then you know what to do. It will be highly appreciated :)**


	23. Chapter 22

**Title: **Never Knew I Needed [Part Twenty-Two]  
**Rating: **NC-17  
**Length: **6k

**Notes: **Okay, so I know I haven't updated in _ages _and so I thought instead of posting the last chapter in one long one, I'd split it up and keep you from waiting for fucking _ages. _I'm so busy now and having a lack of inspiration, but pushing through hopefully. But anyway, hope you enjoy!

/

You can't count how many times you almost fall over or knock a hand or your leg on something as you hurry to get changed.

Somehow, even though your jeans are only around your ankles, you can't seem to pull them up and when you do, they bunch up in all the wrong places or the belt doesn't do up and so with intense frustration, you have to start the whole routine again. Brittany seems to be having the same problem, but hers is with her shirt since apparently the head hole is the arm hole but the arm hole fits her head... and basically, there's a whole lot of crazy and panicked in this room.

It's not like before, back when you had to climb down the damn fire escape and face Brittany's crazy neighbor Sue Sylvester because Quinn totally knows about you and Brittany, but you just know that she won't appreciate you and Brittany fucking on the floor of her brand new apartment, let alone her fucking _bedroom. _Hence the rushing of getting redressed.

"_Santana! Brittany! Are you guys finished yet?"_

You know Quinn's getting closer and closer, and you can hear the small padding of lighter footsteps which means Beth's with her. Suddenly, you're thanking the heavens you and Brittany stopped when you did otherwise you could've scarred that poor child for life.

Once both of you are mostly dressed, and after you panic, knowing the room smells like sweaty sex, you grab Brittany by the arm and rip open the bedroom door, stumbling outside with Brittany behind you. The door slams shut and you stand up rigid, back as straight as a pole as you realize Quinn's standing at the other end of the hallway glaring through narrowed eyes, but Brittany stays completely unaware as she bumps into your side, hands gripping your bicep and hip to steady herself.

And you know that it is exactly what it looks like, that you're not going to be able to get away with it because Quinn's still eying you both and you don't need to look in a mirror to know your appearance just oozes the 'just-had-sex' look. But still, you act nonchalant and clear your throat, patting down your hair subtly as you glance at Quinn.

"Uh... hey, Q."

Hazel eyes linger on you for a while before flicking to Brittany and then straight back again, and you watch them narrow as she takes in both yours and Brittany's appearance a few times over.

Yep, she totally knows.

Oops.

"Ladies!" A voice flows through the hall and you lean a little to the left, peering around Quinn to find Kurt wandering in, Beth by his side, head ducked to her chest as she plays with some type of fluffy toy. You don't really know why he's here. You're sure Quinn said something about Puck... "What needs to be unpacked and decora—_whoa_," he suddenly stops, coming to stand beside the short-haired blonde. "What have _you two_ been up to?" He quirks, eyebrows lifting as he drinks in creased clothing, smudged make-up and messy hair.

Your eyes drop to the floor, but you feel no shame or embarrassment, even though you feel you should. Brittany just shifts beside you, clasping her hands in front of her and dipping her head, and Kurt and Quinn both stay silent as they await your answer. Except you think they already know you're not going to just come out with it, so you just suck in your lips and wait.

You feel like you're in third grade again, about to be told off by the principal.

"Kurt," Quinn suddenly pipes up, her voice flat and hard. You look up to find her staring. Staring good and hard. "Take Beth out for ice cream."

Kurt's face scrunches up with confusion, his head turning to look at the blonde. "But we just went out with Puck for ice—"

"Just go."

It's said in such a sharp voice that even you jerk your head back and Brittany raises her eyebrows, shocked by Quinn's voice. It's not exactly often that Quinn's so hard, so short, and okay, maybe she's as much of a bitch as you are, but since her and Puck started getting back on track, she hasn't been half as bad. This is probably the worst you've seen and heard her in at least six months, and you know it's because of you and Brittany.

Even though you're an adult and you and Brittany can do whatever the hell you want. So frankly, Quinn can kindly go and fuck herself if she thinks she has any say in you and Brittany's relationship.

"Okay..." Kurt drags out, slowly backing away toward Beth who's now sitting cross-legged on the floor. "We'll be back in half an hour!" He yells as he holds Beth's hand and pulls her out the door, whispering something about sprinkles and strawberry sauce.

/

When the front door slams shut, you're not expecting Quinn to start yelling at you.

Hell, you don't even know why she's yelling but here she is, face reddening, pointer finger out and thrusting here, there and everywhere as she paces back and forth, shouting.

"...And you two are _so _frustrating!" She starts, taking steps up and down the hallway. "You are ridiculous, and you think that having sex—" Her head whips around, angered hazel eyes glaring at you and Brittany. "Is going to fucking help. It's not going to, it'll just take you two back to how you started off and _none _of us want that. _God! _It's stupid!" She spins on her heel and begins the walk away, her footsteps a little heavier and harder, but then she stops, twirls around and stares at you, her hands coming up to either side of her head. "You two are both _stupid_!"

You feel Brittany physically wince next to you, and up until then you were totally on board with Quinn yelling at you because she actually had a point. You already knew that you and Brittany having sex wasn't exactly going to help, but it just kept happening. You two are just drawn to each other, emotionally and physically, and you've got a real issue with talking about feelings and so you guess you've subconsciously been focusing on the physical part.

And also, Brittany's fucking _hot. _She's cute, sexy, beautiful, seductive, all wrapped into one, and it's a real fucking turn on. You can't help it if you can't keep your hands off her.

Still, feeling Brittany wince next to you, listening to Quinn call Brittany stupid in spite of knowing how much Brittany hates it, it just makes you snap.

"Shut your fucking mouth, Fabray," you spit, taking a step forward. Quinn stops in her tracks, eyebrows lifting but you can tell she's not all that shocked. "Don't you _dare _call Brittany that. She isn't stupid, she never has been, and _you're_," you thrust your finger toward her, pointing sharply. "_Not_ in this fucking relationship," you point back to yourself and Brittany. "So don't start talking shit and pretending like you know _anything _about what's going on between me and Brittany."

The corners of Quinn's lips curve up into the smallest of smirks, and it makes the fire burn hotter inside of you.

"What? Because you _do _know what's going on between you two?" She fires back and your mouth drops, ready to argue but you're suddenly finding yourself stumped. She has a point. "You don't have a clue," she ducks her head in a demeaning manner and bobs it, trying to get you to understand. You just clench your jaw, refusing to show weakness; _especially _seeing as Brittany's beside you. "Neither do you, Britt," she glances to Brittany. "Neither of you know, and you said that _I'm _not in this 'relationship,'" she finger quotes the word, vision flitting back to you. "But neither are either of you."

You find yourself faltering at the sudden softness in her tone, and how Quinn slumps her shoulders like she's fed up of you and Brittany _not _talking about what you two are, or where it's heading. And you totally get that. You feel the same way, but you didn't realize it was affecting others around you, too.

Quinn suddenly comes marching toward you, much to your surprise, and you feel her latch onto your t-shirt and push you forcefully back into her bedroom. You stumble a little, but catch yourself and spin around just in time to watch Brittany stumbling in, too, and in time for you to glare fiercely at Quinn for laying a hand on you because that shit just doesn't sit well with Santana fucking Lopez. Nobody touches you without your permission, and Quinn's fucking lucky she was caught off guard otherwise she'd have to learn how to drive with one hand. Bitch.

"So you two," the short-haired blonde starts up again, standing by the doorway with her hand on the door knob. "Are going to _finally _talk about what's going on, whether you like it or not," she finishes by cocking her head to the smile, smirking and pulling the door shut.

You don't know what she means, but when you hear the sound of a lock clicking only seconds, you realize what she's done and sprint toward the door. You try to twist the handle, try to yank open the door but you know she's locked it. Your fists are hammering against the panels of the door before you know it as you yell your friend's name. Well, as much of a friend as she is now.

"Quinn! Open the fucking door!"

"_No, Santana," _you hear muffled from behind the door, and you halt your pounding fist for two seconds as you listen to her words. _"You two are going to sort this out, and I'm not letting you out until you do."_

It's not like you don't want to talk to Brittany, but you don't like that you're being _forced_ into it.

It's making you _not _want to do it, and shit, you don't want to go into—quite possibly—one of the biggest conversations of your life with anger in your veins. Even when you're in a pretty regular mood, when you have a serious conversation you seem to come out with things you don't mean, whether they're harsh or not; so you definitely don't want to discuss yours and Brittany's future while you're pissed at Quinn for forcing you to have it because it might lead you to say a number of things you don't mean. That's just how you roll.

So with that in mind, you just carry on slamming your curled hand against the door, yelling for Quinn to open the fucking thing.

/

You do that for fifteen minutes.

By the end of it, your hand is aching like a bitch, Quinn still hasn't opened the door and your throat feels all scratchy and hoarse from the shouting and cursing.

But the one thing, above all that, that you notice, is that Brittany hasn't spoken since you were shoved in here with her.

When you first turn around and find her sitting on the floor, legs crossed and hands toying with something between her fingers, you question why she hasn't been doing the same thing you have and tried to get out the door. Or even looked out the window like you did on the seventh minute of protesting being locked in this room, only to find that there was no fire escape (which is probably illegal) so you really don't have any way of getting out.

But then the second thing you feel is guilt. Heavy guilt panging through your chest like someone just plucked a string, because it slowly sinks in that maybe she _wanted _to get locked in here with you, purely for the fact that you would've _had_ to speak. Yet here you are, pounding your fist against the door, trying to get out and probably conveying that you didn't want to talk at all.

You really are a fucking idiot.

So gingerly, you bring your hand down from the door and let it hang weakly by your side as you make your way over to Brittany. You stand over her for a second, just staring down, but she doesn't look up and you kind of hate yourself a little for that. Because after everything, after all your talking about not going further until you had a conversation, until you read a journal, when you were finally faced with the chance to finally figure out what the hell's going on, you wanted to get away at a chance you were given to talk to her.

How the hell do you think you've made her feel now? _God._

"Britt," you whisper, your voice breaking.

She doesn't make a move to respond or even look at you, and your face falters a little, eyebrows twitching and lip trembling. You don't want her to be mad at you.

"Brittany... I'm sorry."

This causes a reaction, but it's only a long, heavy sigh and a light tilt of her head, eyes barely flickering up to you.

"I found your necklace," she says and it's so _not _what you thought she was going to say that you have to take a few seconds to go back over it in your mind.

"You... you found my necklace?" You slowly repeat, almost testing the words on your tongue.

She sucks her lips into her mouth and bobs her head, beckoning you down with a slight wave of her hand. You obey and lower yourself onto the ground next to her, figuring she can't be too mad at you if she's asking you to sit next to her. You cross your legs once you're on the floor and swallow, waiting for her to continue, your hands twitching with the need to reach out and touch her; even if it just means setting a hand on her knee. But you restrain.

"When I was at your place... back when we... when I... when I returned," she starts, a little shakily, her hands still toying with the object in her hands which you now realize is shiny and silver.

It's your necklace.

The one you purposely broke, back when you were angry... and bitter. Back when you were missing her so much it felt like you couldn't breathe.

And you freeze a little, unsure of how to react because even though she doesn't know you broke it on purpose, you know she's perceptive. You know she knows you and you also know by the way she glances at you, a sad softness floating behind her blue eyes, that she understands why you _might _have done it on purpose.

"I—I... I found it," she continues, her voice steadying as she lifts her gaze to meet yours. "I know you broke it on purpose."

Your face drops at her words. How the hell does she know that?

"What?"

Her eyes dart off away from you, and you know you've disappointed her again by trying to lie but it was your initial reaction. You didn't, and _don't, _want her to know that you broke your necklace because you were lonely. That you broke it because you were broken, and bitter, and hurting because she left you. It's not an excuse, and you regret breaking it and did about five seconds after realizing you broke it.

"San," she starts again, her voice soft and low. Her eyes flicker back to yours and she sucks in her lips, swallowing thickly before she speaks. "I understand why you did it."

You open to your mouth to explain, to blurt out anything that might make you feel less guilty for breaking something that was so precious to you, something that _is _still precious to you, but Brittany cuts you off with a simple look. One that says that she really _does _understand, and you do momentarily wonder whether she broke the bracelet she gave you, but when your eyes flit down to her wrist, you see the silver chain wrapped around her pale skin and breathe out a sigh of relief, realizing how happy you are that she didn't break it and still wears it.

_Shit._ You freeze at your own thoughts.

Now you know how she feels.

"Britt, I'm sor—"

"I know," she interjects, shaking her head a little, a sad smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I understand," she sets a hand over your knee and looks at you through an intense stare. She wets her lips and takes in a deep breath. "I know you were hurt, and I know when you feel like that, you do things you don't mean — which is why I'm not angry."

Your head tilts to the side, a crease forming between your brows as they come together. "You're not angry?"

"No," she replies, her lips twitching. "I'm not angry, because it just shows that even when things are broken," she lifts her spare hand, the one that isn't on your knee, and holds it open, offering you the necklace that you now realize is fixed. "They can be fixed," she says, eyes moving to the piece of jewelery for a few seconds before they switch back to you again. "They can be put back together."

You're confused at first, but after repeating her words over in your mind you get what she means and you find yourself letting out a small burst of laughter. Because you honestly don't get how people can call Brittany stupid, or think she's 'simple' because really, she's a genius. She's so smart, so _so _clever, and okay, maybe she's using a metaphor for the necklace when really she's talking about your relationship, but you would've never thought of that. You're sure no-one apart from her would have thought of that, of turning one thing into another, of approaching two subjects with one path, but she did it.

_God. _She's just so incredible you still to do this day don't know how you got so lucky.

Still though, there's that part of you—that still-recovering part that finds a hard time trusting people, trusting _Brittany_—that makes you look at the necklace, at the segment you broke, and brings a flurry of thoughts to your mind. And honestly, you get what she's saying; you know that she's telling you that despite the frailty of your relationship, that it can be fixed, but you already knew that. You already knew you two could be together, but it's the getting over the pain you once endured that's going to be tough.

Because how are you supposed to trust her when she just up and left for an entire year?

How are you supposed to give yourself to her entirely when there's nothing stopping her from leaving again?

How are you supposed to love her when there's still a part of you that's scared to?

You don't know, but you guess by the way she's gazing at you that she does.

"Just because you fix it, doesn't mean it's not still weak and it doesn't mean it won't break again," you whisper, unable to hold it in. You lower your head, chin to your chest, and feel a wave of sadness wash over you.

You don't want to be negative about this.

You don't want to believe that you and Brittany _won't _end up together, but you also didn't want to believe that she'd leave you and she did.

For all you know, anything's possible with Brittany.

And it's killing you.

"Not if you use a stronger piece," she replies with utter certainty and it makes you pick your head up again to glance at her. You were all for talking in metaphors but now you want to cut the crap and just know what she's saying.

"Britt, can we just stop talking in metaphors now?" You ask, squeezing your eyes shut and reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose. "I just wanna know what you're saying," you say, and you know it comes out in a way that shows you're tired but honestly, you are.

You're so tired of pretending like you're not in love with her. You're so tired of avoiding the relationship talk. You're so tired of all the freaking drama and you just want it over and done with.

You just want Brittany to be yours, even if it takes a bit more hard work and perseverance to get there.

She lets out a heavy breath and squeezes your knee, her body scooting closer on the floor until she's right there in front of you, basically on your damn lap, staring at you through the bluest eyes you've ever seen. Through the only eyes you've ever fallen in love with.

"I'm saying I don't think we should start where we left off," she says and a shot of panic shoots through you at the same time your stomach tightens. She must sense it though because she shifts even closer, throwing a leg over yours until she's _actually _in your lap, moving her hand from your knee to your cheek where she cups it to keep your eyes on her. "I'm saying I think we should start from scratch and do everything again."

It's not quite what you were expecting, but it doesn't catch you off guard.

"Like a clean slate?" You respond almost immediately, narrowing your eyes.

She nods. "Like a clean slate," she confirms and you can tell your lack of reaction is making her nervous by the way she's chewing on her bottom lip. "We can just put everything behind us and start fresh," she suggests.

And honestly, you hadn't even thought of that; but now she's saying it, you can't think of anything better. It's everything you wanted and everything you never knew you did. It means if you start new with Brittany, you get to do everything properly. You get to do all the things you promised yourself she would if she were to ever come back to you.

It means you get to take her on dates, to get nervous and wonder when you should kiss her.

It means you get to hesitate when you're eating dinner at some fancy restaurant because you're unsure of whether you can just reach across and take her hands.

It means you can go through the stages like a normal couple; you get to talk, to listen, to laugh and to flirt.

It means you get to do everything _right, _and fall in love with her all over again, even though you never fell _out _of love with her.

And it gets you so excited, that you find yourself nodding and smiling at the idea without even realizing you are.

Brittany laughs a little, and her thumb strokes across your cheek as she goes to pull it away but you hold your hand against the back of hers to keep it there.

"Yeah," you breathe out, your smile growing across your face. "Yeah, Britt... let's—let's do it."

Her eyebrows lift, but you know she's not surprised. "Yeah?" She questions and you bob your head quickly, making her chuckle again. "Awesome," she gets out, her face splitting into the biggest grin and your eyes meet hers, locking as you take this moment in.

Because this moment is a new start for you two.

This moment is a brand new beginning that when you're old and gray, with Brittany sitting beside you in a matching rocking chair on the porch of your house as you watch your grandchildren run around the front yard, you can look back upon and smile. This is one of the moments that you know you're not going to forget, and you take everything in, the way she's smiling at you, the way her eyes are sparkling and the way she's looking at you like you're the best thing in the world, because you just want to treasure it.

It's a moment to remember. To relish.

"Santana?"

You blink yourself out the daze, raising your eyes from her lips—when did that happen?—and she's beaming at you, all bright and smiles. "Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you?" She asks and you can't help but let out a short laugh through your nose as you ignore your heart leaping against your ribcage, because she should already know she can kiss you whenever she wants. Yet you still duck your chin to your chest, feeling blood rush to your face because even now, the idea, the proposition of Brittany kissing you gets you all hot under the collar. It's ridiculous, but you guess that this is what love feels like.

"You don't have to ask," you murmur, glancing up through your eyelashes. You feel a little shy saying this. "You can always kiss me."

Her entire face lights up, but you lift your shoulder, glancing away as if that'll hide the heat flooding to your face and she leans forward. Your heart damn near leaps out your chest as you look back at her, look at her lips, but she just continues coming toward you, her eyes holding yours. She's so confident in every aspect, and usually you're not too bad yourself, but she makes you feel like a bunch of nerves and you just pale in comparison.

You take a second to close your eyes as she gets closer, to breathe her in and remember how this feels because this is the start of a new beginning. You take a second because you want to remember everything about right now, about the way her hand is warm, resting on your collarbone; about the way you can smell vanilla wafting up from her skin and how you're breathing in a cycle with her, her in and you out. You remember it all, even down to the way your stomach feels like it's flipping inside your body and how it feels like nothing else exists, and you swear there's nothing better than you being here, right now, with Brittany.

You don't ever want to be without her.

Though it must be quite obvious what you're doing because only moments later, you hear a light, breathy chuckle and open your eyes to find bright blue sparkling back at you. The breath you take catches in your throat and your heart skips a beat, and you actually get so caught up with the way she's looking at you, so softly, so in love, that you completely forget that she was going to kiss you.

But then her thumb strokes over the hollow of your throat and she asks, "Are you sure?" with a hesitant look on her face.

You smile warmly at her, your hand coming up to her chin to tip it down as you nod.

"I've never been more sure of anything," you whisper, and smile into the kiss she gives you as you both take in the double-meaning of your words.

/

You and Brittany take things steady for a few weeks.

You kiss her, and she kisses you, but you two never make out. You two hug, but never cuddle. You touch, but nothing beneath the waist and beneath shirts and definitely no sex.

It's difficult—like, _really _fucking difficult—to control yourself around her, and it's a little confusing, too, but it's good. Because you two were planning on a clean slate, to start from scratch, and you know you're already pushing the boundaries by kissing her because you two haven't even gone on your first date yet and you're pretty sure first kisses are supposed to happen then, but she's just too damn hard to resist with her bright smiles, her beaming eyes and her adoring glances.

And you guess you must be a little hard to resist for her, too, because when you're not kissing her, she's holding your face between her hands and pressing her lips against yours, so you guess you can just let this little slip up go.

(You were probably a little naïve to believe that you could actually start over _completely _with Brittany anyway.

You were never able to keep your hands off her — not even when you were 'just friends' and had never slept together.)

But anyway, things between you and Brittany are well, a little weird as you don't really know where you stand or what is really going on or who's supposed to ask who out on a first date, but they're good so you don't question it.

You're just happy that things are comfortable and that you get to kiss her.

Though you do wish you could call her your own.

/

You're just about to head into work to check your rota for this week when you get a text from Quinn. You take your phone out from your pocket and swipe your thumb over the screen to reveal the text, but stop short, right in the middle of the sidewalk when you see what your friend's said. Someone curses at you, bumping into your shoulder at the sudden halting of your movement, but you're not really in a mindset to give a shit because of fucking _Quinn._

_You need to take Brittany out on a date._

It's a little out of the blue to say the least, and you read it over at least four times before you decide that you've had enough of her meddling in your damn life and step over toward the nearest building, out the way of other people as you dial her number.

She picks up on the fourth ring. _"Hello?"_

"You gotta butt out of my business," you say in lieu of a greeting.

Quinn scoffs. _"Oh don't get your panties in a twist, Lopez; I'm only saying you need to take Brittany out on a date—"_

"No, Q," you cut her off, not wanting to listen to her shit. She already locked you in a damn room with Brittany, and okay, maybe that _did _help but she shouldn't have done that. You're still pissed at her for that. "You can't tell me what to do and when I should take Brittany out for a date or not. I'm waiting until—"

"_Yeah, yeah," _Quinn interjects, her tone conveying that she doesn't give a crap about what you were about to say. _"I know, you're waiting until you're ready and emotionally stable and all that crap, but Rach, Kurt and I are throwing Brittany a welcome back party, so you gotta get her out the apartment for a while."_

"She came back four weeks ago," you point out, scrunching your face in confusion. "There's no point in throwing one now."

You almost _hear _Quinn rolling her eyes down the line.

"_That's part of the surprise, Santana," _she tells you. _"She won't expect it. So take her out to dinner, or go to a movie, or do whatever for a few hours so we can set up and then come back and act all surprised and shit." _You open your mouth to argue but Quinn speaks again. _"I know you don't think you're ready, but the sexual tension between you two is unreal and has been for the past three weeks you two have done whatever the hell you two have been doing, and so if you can _not _sleep with her, you're ready to date her."_

You think the comment is a little random until you begin thinking about all those times you and Brittany have been sharing seductive and sultry looks, mixed in with how many times you ended up kissing on the couch, wishing you could just push your tongue into her mouth and push your hand up her shirt, and suddenly it doesn't seem so random.

You know it's been three weeks that you and Brittany have taken it steady, and despite it being a little confusion, like you said, it's been nice, but it's also been fucking _torture _for you and your needs. Sure, your left hand has been your best friend, but as Brittany's stayed a little longer than originally planned—thanks to a mix-up at her bank and what-not—and has been in the next freaking _room _while you were... _servicing _yourself, it'd been more than distracting and _so _fucking tempting not to just sprint into her room, show her how you feel and just get down and dirty and relieve some of the tension building at the pit of your stomach.

But anyway, as you know that you're more than ready to sleep with Brittany and yet you _haven't _been, you kind of guess that means you are ready to date her.

You have self-control, and you've matured a lot, and you find yourself daydreaming about what it'd be like to take her on a proper date instead of daydreaming about... _well, _other stuff.

And okay, you know that doesn't_ really _make sense, but it also kind of does, or there's some logic lingering within your thoughts so you're just going to take it as it comes and just do it.

"Okay," you breathe out, and when you hear Quinn down the line you remember you were on the phone to her and clear your throat. "Uh, I mean... sure, I'll do it."

"_Take your fucking time, Lopez," _your friend retorts and you chuckle a little, rolling your eyes. _"And get to it. We can't have her being suspicious and you gotta make you and Brittany official at some point."_

You know she's trying to help you, but it's still pretty damn irritating. Instead of biting the bait though, you just agree and say your goodbye to her before you hang up the phone.

But that's when it hits you.

You're going on a date with Brittany.

_Damn._

/

**I don't really know what to put here... so this is just a pointless note.**

**Thanks and please review if you have time!**


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